Читать книгу A Few More Verses - Coolidge Susan - Страница 27

I SAW the gardener bring and strew

Gray ashes where blush roses grew.

The fair, still roses bent them low,

Their pink cheeks dimpled all with dew,

And seemed to view with pitying air

The dim gray atoms lying there.

Ah, bonny rose, all fragrances,

And life and hope and quick desires,

What can you need or gain from these

Poor ghosts of long-forgotten fires?

The rose-tree leans, the rose-tree sighs,

And wafts this answer subtly wise:

“All death, all life are mixed and blent,

Out of dead lives fresh life is sent,

Sorrow to these is growth for me,

And who shall question God’s decree?”

Ah, dreary life, whose gladsome spark

No longer leaps in song and fire,

But lies in ashes gray and stark,

Defeated hopes and dead desire,

Useless and dull and all bereft, —

Take courage, this one thing is left:

Some happier life may use thee so,

Some flower bloom fairer on its tree,

Some sweet or tender thing may grow

To stronger life because of thee;

Content to play a humble part,

Give of the ashes of thy heart,

And haply God, whose dear decrees

Taketh from those to give to these,

Who draws the snow-drop from the snows

May from those ashes feed a rose.