The Rose

the rose

What is of value in this world -
More than the beauty of love itself?
Its depth of the ocean, or of the pearl:
Whose wonder soon shall show herself.

A single flower, a single rose
Reaches out into the dead of night:
Whose beauty it shall never know -
Before it rests, reveals its light.

Some say hearts are made of stone -
Yet they flourish in the glory of this life;
Whose beauty shall be never known -
In vict'ry's bell, in heart's delight.

And there she is! the rose again -
To burn and rise above the fire,
Her heart forgot, her heart content -
Has fulfilled her only true desire.