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Home  »  The English Poets  »  The Rose and the Ring

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke

Frederick Locker-Lampson (1821–1895)

The Rose and the Ring

SHE smiles, but her heart is in sable,

Ay, sad as her Christmas is chill;

She reads, and her book is the Fable

He penn’d for her while she was ill.

It is nine years ago since he wrought it,

Where reedy old Tiber is king;

And chapter by chapter he brought it,—

He read her The Rose and the Ring.

And when it was printed, and gaining

Renown with all lovers of glee,

He sent her this copy containing

His comical little croquis;

A sketch of a rather droll couple,

She’s pretty, he’s quite t’other thing!

He begs (with a spine vastly supple)

She will study The Rose and the Ring.

It pleased the kind Wizard to send her

The last and the best of his Toys;

He aye had a sentiment tender

For innocent maidens and boys:

And though he was great as a scorner,

The guileless were safe from his sting:

How sad is past mirth to the mourner—

A tear on The Rose and the Ring.

She reads; I may vainly endeavour

Her mirth-chequer’d grief to pursue;

For she knows she has lost, and for ever,

The Heart that was bared to so few;

But here, on the shrine of his glory,

One poor little blossom I fling;—

And you see there’s a nice little story

Attach’d to The Rose and the Ring.