O Silver Rose

THE dark hour turns so slowly and so sweet, The last still hour soft-fallen from the stars. To-morrow I may kneel and touch thy feet, O Rose of all Shiraz. Lay wide thine amorous lattice to the south, O Silver Rose, when roses breathe thy name, And thou at dawn shalt feel upon thy mouth The kiss I dared not claim. Discrowned, dishonoured, reft of pride and power, From the red battle where they hailed me lord, O Silver Rose, O sweet Pomegranate Flower, I turn me to their sword. Life hath so held me to an empty part, Life hath so snared me, bound and made me blind. To-morrow I may rest upon thy heart, For death shall prove more kind.