Poems (Allen)/Where the Roses grew

by Elizabeth Chase Allen

WHERE THE ROSES GREW.

HIS is where the roses grew,
 In the summer that is gone;
Fairer bloom or richer hue
 Never summer shone upon:
O, the glories vanished hence!
O, the sad imperfect tense!

This is where the roses grew
 When the July days were long,—
When the garden all day through
 Echoed with delight and song;—
Hark! the dead and broken stalks
Eddying down the windy walks!

Never was a desert waste,
 Where no blossom-life is born,
Half so dreary and unblest,
 Half so lonesome and forlorn,
Since in this we dimly see
All the bliss that used to be.

Where the roses used to grow!
 And the west-wind's wailing words
Tell in whispers faint and low
 Of the famished humming-birds,—
Of the bees which search in vain
For the honey-cells again!

This is where the roses grew,
 Till the ground was all perfume,
And, whenever zephyrs blew,
 Carpeted with crimson bloom!
Now the chill and scentless air
Sweeps the flower-plats brown and bare.

Hearts have gardens sad as this,
 Where the roses bloom no more,—
Gardens where no summer-bliss
 Can the summer-bloom restore,—
Where the snow melts not away
At the warming kiss of May;—

Gardens where the vernal morns
 Never shed their sunshine down,—
Where are only stems and thorns,
 Veiled in dead leaves, curled and blown,—
Gardens where we only see
Where the roses used to be!