Dora Sigerson Shorter

With a Rose

In the heart of a rose
   Lies the heart of a maid;
   If you be not afraid
You will wear it.  Who knows?

In the pink of its bloom,
   Lay your lips to her cheek;
   Since a rose cannot speak,
And you gain the perfume.

If the dews on the leaf
   Are the tears from her eyes;
   If she withers and dies,
Why, you have the belief,

That a rose cannot speak,
   Though the heart of a maid
   In its bosom must fade,
And with fading must break.