Hide me in a shrine of roses, Drown me in a wine of roses Drawn from every fragrant grove! Bind me on a pyre of roses, Burn me in a fire of roses, Crown me with the rose of Love! SAROJINI NAIDU LOVE PLANTED A ROSE Love planted a rose, And the world turned sweet. Where the wheat-field blows Love planted a rose. Up the mill-wheel's prose Ran a music-beat. Love planted a rose, And the world turned sweet. KATHARINE LEE BATES THE GARDEN My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own, Into thy garden; thine be happy hours Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers, From root to crowning petal thine alone. Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown Up to the sky enclosed, with all its showers. But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown. For as these come and go, and quit our pine To follow the sweet season, or, new-comers, Sing one song only from our alder-trees, My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine, Fit to the silent world and other summers, With wings that dip beyond the silver seas. ALICE MEYNELL CLOUD AND FLOWER I saw the giant stalking to the sky, The giant cloud above the wilderness, Bearing a mystery too far, too high, For my poor guess. Away I turned me, sighing: "I must seek In lowlier places for the wonder-word. Something more little, intimate, shall speak." A bright rose stirred. And long I looked into its face, to see At last some hidden import of the hour. And I had thought to turn from mystery-- But O, flower! flower! AGNES LEE PROGRESS There seems no difference between To-day and yesterday-- The forest glimmers just as green, The garden's just as gay. Yet, something came and something went Within the night's chill gloom: An old rose fell, her fragrance spent, A new rose burst in bloom. CHARLOTTE BECKER "BUT WE DID WALK IN EDEN" But we did walk in Eden, Eden, the garden of God;-- There, where no beckoning wonder Of all the paths we trod, No choiring sun-filled vineyard, No voice of stream or bird, But was some radiant oracle And flaming with the Word! Mine ears are dim with voices; Mine eyes yet strive to see The black things here to wonder at, The mirth,--the misery. Beloved, who wert with me there, How came these shames to be?-- On what lost star are we? Men say: The paths of gladness By men were never trod!-- But we have walked in Eden, Eden, the garden of God.