Ode to the Moonlit Rose
Beneath the silver moon’s celestial glow,
A rose awakes where midnight breezes sigh,
Its crimson petals softly bend and bow,
Like whispered love beneath the weeping sky.
Each dewdrop gleams as if the stars had wept
Their diamonds on its velvet folds of flame,
While through the dark the dreaming forest kept
A hush that trembled at its secret name.
O gentle bloom, thou child of earth and light,
How dost thou mock the pride of sculptured stone,
For all man builds must perish in the night,
Yet beauty breathes where thou dost bloom alone.
I gaze on thee, and in thy fragrant grace
My restless heart forgets the wounds of time;
For nature writes upon thy tender face
A truth more pure than reason’s loftiest rhyme.
And though thy petals fade with morning’s breath,
And fall like crimson tears upon the sod,
Thy fleeting life proclaims through gentle death
The sacred hand of wonder—and of God.
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