The Wild Rose
I cannot tell how it may be with others
Over life’s sandy plain,
But I have loved the hedges as my brothers
In summer and in rain.
And still I go to them in hours of weakness,
When overcome with fears,
Weighed down with sorrow, and beset with bleakness,
To weep away my tears.
But oftener do I seek their silent arches,
As some bright vision glows,
Cheered with the whisper of the solemn larches
And the red-rimmed Wild Rose.
It shines among the filberts sun-surrounded,
Smiles in the brambles drear,
Outpours its sweets where dryness long abounded
The beauty of the year.
Sad eyes turn to it, and they gleam for gladness;
Care half-forgets it woes;
It has a charm for much of human sadness
The beautiful Wild Rose.
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