Thomas Emmet Dewey.
THE ROSE'S MESSAGE.
I saw her stroll alone in evening's shade,
And with a torn rose stem she slowly traced,
upon a mossy wall, With lichens graced,
Some careful words. By her dear presence stayed,
I sought the meaning that the rose conveyed.
So stealing near, with footsteps lightly placed,
I held her close in loving arms embraced,
And read the message as she stood dismayed.
Ah! what a joyful tale it told to me,
Though tender eyes had hinted oft the same!
It filled my heart with rapturous ecstacy,
Thus dimly etched beneath my lowly name;
It was in very truth Fate's fond decree,
For rudely written there, I read, "Je t'aime."
Dear ones 't is sweet for me to trace
Upon thy tender, wistful face,
With glistening tears of sorrow wet,
But like a pearl with diamonds set,
A love that seems like Heaven's own grace.