Wild Roses

Wild-roses hang in beauty,
Within the mountain glen.
Cool in the shade,
Seeking not the eyes of men.

But left to bloom alone,
To lend their sweetness there.
Rooted to the limpid stream,
Rich...untouched...and rare.

Tender like a baby's breath,
Ushered forth in sleep.
A cherub's blush at morning tide,
Where shades are centered deep.

Petals of pink purity,
Scented with the dawn.
Leaves from a clustered coverlet,
For the resting fawn.

Perfume of the angels,
In that far and glorious state.
God grant me full vision,
Of wild-roses at the gate.


E.P. 1908 - 1989