Get Your Premium Membership

A Dead Rose

 O Rose! who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,---
Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away An odour up the lane to last all day,--- If breathing now,---unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee, And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn, Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,--- If shining now,---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee, And, white first, grow incarnadined, because It lay upon thee where the crimson was,--- If dropping now,---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee, To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet, Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,--- If lighting now,---would coldly overrun thee.
The bee that once did suck thee, And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive, And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,--- If passing now,---would blindly overlook thee.
The heart doth recognise thee, Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet, Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,--- Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!--- Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee!

Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - A Dead RoseEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Poems are below...

More Poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on A Dead Rose

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem A Dead Rose here.

Commenting turned off, sorry.

Book: Shattered Sighs