The Night Mail and Other Poems

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That liken’d her to such.

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Or these, to make a diadem,

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She often may have pluck’d and twined;

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Half-smiling as it came to mind,

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That few would look at them.

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O, little thought that Lady proud,

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A child would watch her fair white rose,

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When buried lay her whiter brows,

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And silk was changed for shroud!—

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Nor thought that gardener (full of scorns

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For men unlearn’d and simple phrase)

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A child would bring it all its praise,

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By creeping through the thorns!

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To me upon my low moss seat,

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Though never a dream the roses sent