The Rosebuds
Yes, in that dainty ivory shrine, With those three pallid buds, I twine And fold away a dream divine! One night they lay upon a breast Where Love hath made his fragrant nest, And throned me as a life-long guest. Near that chaste heart they seemed to me Types of far fairer flowers to be— The rosebuds of a human tree! Buds that shall bloom beside my hearth, And there be held of richer worth Than all the kingliest gems of earth. Ah me! the pathos of the thought! I had not deemed she wanted aught; Yet what a tenderer charm it wrought! I know not if she marked the flame That lit my cheek, but not from shame, When one sweet image dimly came. There was a murmur soft and low; White folds of cambric, parted slow; And little fingers played with snow! How far my fancy dared to stray, A lover's reverence needs not say— Enough—the vision passed away! Passed in a mist of happy tears, While something in my trancèd ears Hummed like the future in a seer's!
Henry Timrod’s other poems:
