Wild Roses
Whence comes that swooning fragrance on the air
That riot of rich color on the hill
Like smouldering embers? red, deep red, and fair
They are, beyond our groping words. We thrill
To inner surgings of unuttered things
When we behold, strewn o’er this alien lea
Exotic bloom that to our spirit sings
In perfume sweet as lifting melody,
Fresh from immortal Eden’s radiant bowers
Where angels coveted our earthly flowers.
Like elfin torches tipped with odorous fire
Raining their ashen petals on the grass,
These flowering censers rouse a wild desire
For beauty yet unseen, in those who pass
This solitary way. O incense sweet!
The bees are drunken with it, the wild bees
And dragon flies that hunt this still retreat
Far from the world of men. Is it for these
That Nature lavishes her perfume rare
To scent this moorland waste and wandering air?
Wild roses, O but they were meant to be
More than the sweet companions of an hour;
Theirs is a loftier role, their destiny
In this sad world, to glorify the power
Of beauty welling up beyond the range
Of mortal view. Strange ecstasies concealed
Aforetime from our blighting frost and change
Aurora’s swinging gates have here revealed;
Such perfect beauty as the seraph knows
Hid in that floral miracle - a rose.