I.
When late I watched the arrows of the
Against the windows of the Tavern beat, I heard a Rose that murmured from her Pot:"Why trudge thy fellows yonder in the Street?
II."Before the phantom of False Morning dies,
Choked in the bitter Net that binds the skies, Their feet, bemired with Yesterday, set
For the dark alleys where To-morrow lies.
II."Think you, when all their petals they have bruised,
And all the fragrances of Life confused, That Night with sweeter rest will comfort
Than us, who still within the Garden mused?
IV."Think you the Gold they fight for all day
Is worth the frugal Peace their clamours wrong? Their Titles, and the Name they toil to build---Will they outlast the echoes of our Song?"V.
O Sons of Omar, what shall be the
Seek not to know, for no man living knows: But while within your hands the Wine is
Drink ye--to Omar and the Dreaming Rose!
