Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By CoraFabbri

1703 White Roses

THERE was a rose-tree grew so high

And white with all its seven roses,

It seemed a cloud ’twixt earth and sky.

There was one rose among the seven

That grew alone on topmost bough,

Like a white star caught down from heaven.

I plucked it that it should not be

Deflowered by rainy, wild west winds

In all its white virginity.

There was a little maiden dead

In a dark room in a lone place—

Two candles at her feet and head.

Her two hands crossed upon her breast,

Like frail rose petals, but more still—

Glad to be folded thus at rest.

Her pale lips smiling all the while,

In such a solemn, perfect peace,

Alas, as our lips never smile.

I gave my white rose to the dead—

It seemed less white than her young brow:

The others wept—“Alas!” they said.

I gave my white rose to the child,

Both plucked in their young purity,

And while the others wept I smiled.