Red Rose

The Lily sweetens for no living lover, 
But listens for the loitering feet of Death: 
The Iris has strange secrets to discover, 
Rosemary some old grief remembereth. 
Forget-me-not' s blue eyes are dim with passion, 
Sir Humble-Bee has jilted Columbine, 
Lavender's an old maid, and out of fashion, 
And Madam Tulip's gown is over fine. 

Red Rose alone is royal in her giving, 
And is no niggard, all her gold being spent: 
She gives her colour and her fragrance living, 
And, being dead and dust, she gives her scent. 
Red Rose, throned safe beyond all fear of treason, 
Blenching no whit when rude hands shake your tree, 
In season, noble Rose, and out of season — 
In life, in dreams, in death, be friends with me!