The sweet caresses that I gave to you Are but the perfume of the Rose of Love, The color and the witchery thereof, And not the Rose itself. Each is a clue Merely, whereby to seek the hidden, true, Substantial blossom. Like the Jordan dove A kiss is but a symbol from above-- An emblem the Reality shines through. The Rose of Love is ever unrevealed In all its beauty, for the sight of it Were perilous with purpose of the world. The hand of Life has cautiously concealed The pollen-chamber of the infinite Flower, and its petals only half uncurled. ELSA BARKER A SONG IN A GARDEN Will the garden never forget That it whispers over and over, "Where is your lover, Nanette? Where is your lover--your lover?" Oh, roses I helped to grow, Oh, lily and mignonette, Must you always question me so, "Where is your lover, Nanette?" Since you looked on my joy one day, Is my grief then a lesser thing? Have you only this to say When I pray you for comforting? Now that I walk alone Here where our hands were met, Must you whisper me everyone, "Where is your lover, Nanette?" I have mourned with you year and year, When the Autumn has left you bare, And now that my heart is sere Does not one of your roses care? Oh, help me forget--forget, Nor question over and over, "Where is your lover, Nanette? Where is your lover--your lover?" THEODOSIA GARRISON "IT WAS JUNE IN THE GARDEN" It was June in the garden, It was our time, our day; And our gaze with love on everything Did fall; They seemed then softly opening, And they saw and loved us both, The roses all. The sky was purer than all limpid thought; Insect and bird Swept through the golden texture of the air, Unheard; Our kisses were so fair they brought Exaltation to both light and bird. It seemed as though a happiness at once Had skied itself and wished the heavens entire For its resplendent fire; And life, all pulsing life, had entered in, Into the fissures of our beings to the core, To fling them higher. And there was nothing but invocatory cries, Mad impulses, prayers and vows that cleave The archèd skies, And sudden yearning to create new gods, In order to believe. EMILE VERHAEREN TWO ROSES A fair white rose sedately grows Within the garden wall. There blows No wind to ruff her petals white, No stain of earth, no touch of blight The pure face of my ladye shows. The queen of all the walls enclose Might be mine own, an' if I chose; But yet, but yet I cannot slight My wild red rose.