The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/Rose

Sweet as the flower with her name
Her happy smile, always the same.
Ever with me; teaching how
To live and hope; I see it now
As tho it were beside me, clear
As cyrstal, and as dear
As anything my heart desires
For consolation.

Quite a girl is little Rose,
Her dashing ways and pretty clothes
Go far to make my day less weary,
To brighten up the times less cheery
Than those happy moments spent
In lover’s arms; There’s no repent
For moments with love’s glowing fires
As compensation.

Her kisses warm all go to make
My soul with deep ambition quake,
And so at dawn I rise refreshed,
And venture forth on life’s hard quest
Of fame and fortune; For her sake
A name in marble; set to wake
In other men, strength Fate requires
As commendation.

I’ll fight my way thru thick and thin
And then some day I’ll look back in
At the weary struggle, from without:
A self-made man, there’s not a doubt
To others, who know less than I
Of Rose—her smile, and flashing eye,
That brought me safe from out the mires
Of desolation.