A Ruined Rose.
There, with its petals scattered all around,
So crushed and torn, and beaten to the ground,
Lies ruined, mother's best Missouri rose.
The leaves all mangled, beaten in the earth,
Have lost ali shape of beauty they possessed.
The branches droop, as prone to lie and rest,
And show no sign of beauty or of mirth.
The stem that bore this beauteous gem of June
Droops Iow in mourning o'er the dying leaves,
As though to seek their sympathy, and grieves
O'er loss of all its beauty all so soon.
Last evening, sunlight kissed its pretty face,
And turned its crimson petals still more red.
How lovingly it drooped its little head!
How filled with beauty, symmetry, and grace!
Last evening, zephyrs brushed it as they passed,
Its tender cheek so lovingly caressed,
As low it drooped its little head to rest;
But midnight brought the fierce tornado's blast.
How like our lives, the rose's life and death.
How like our fate, the cruel fate that falls
Upon its happy lot and gruffy calls
It from its bloom to sudden certain death!
Yea, brightly beams life's sunlit, joyous tide!
And softly flow rhe rippling waves above
The solemn depths of purity and love.
Proud pleasure sees the grave stand open wide.
__Colfax Burgoyne Harman
Poems Of Sentiment
Colfax Burgoyne Harman
(Valley Falls, Kansas: Harman Publishing. 1905)