TO HILDA OF HER ROSESEnough has been said about rosesTo fill thirty thick volumes;There are as many songs about rosesAs there are roses in the worldThat includes Mexico … the Azores … Oregon…It is a pity your rosesAre too late for Omar…It is a pity Keats has gone…Yet there must be something left to sayOf flowers like these!Adventurers,They pushed their wayThrough dewy tunnels of the June nightNow they confer….A little tremulous….Dazzled by the yellow sea-beach of morningIf Herrick would tiptoe back…If Blake were to look this wayLedwidge, even!GRACE HAZARD CONKLING
Enough has been said about rosesTo fill thirty thick volumes;There are as many songs about rosesAs there are roses in the worldThat includes Mexico … the Azores … Oregon…It is a pity your rosesAre too late for Omar…It is a pity Keats has gone…Yet there must be something left to sayOf flowers like these!Adventurers,They pushed their wayThrough dewy tunnels of the June nightNow they confer….A little tremulous….Dazzled by the yellow sea-beach of morningIf Herrick would tiptoe back…If Blake were to look this wayLedwidge, even!
GRACE HAZARD CONKLING