The Patriot

An Old Story

I

It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
A year ago on this very day!

II

The air broke into a mist with bells,
The old walls rocked with the crowds and cries.
Had I said, "Good folks, mere noise repels
But give me your sun from yonder skies!"
They had

Women And Roses

I.I dream of a red-rose tree.And which of its roses threeIs the dearest rose to me?II.Round and round, like a dance of snowIn a dazzling drift, as its guardians, goFloating the women faded for ages,Sculptured in stone, on the poet's pages.Then follow women fresh and gay,Living and loving and loved to-day.Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens,Beauties yet unborn. And all, to one cadence