Explore "The Rose" by Theodosia Pickrering Garrison on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I took the love you gave, Ah, carelessly, / Counting it only as a rose to wear / A little moment on my heart no more, / So many roses had I worn before, / So lightly that I scarce believed them there.
But, Lo! this rose between the dusk and dawn / Hath turned to very flame upon my breast, / A flame that burns the day-long and the night, / A flame of very anguish and delight / That not for any moment yields me rest.
And I am troubled with a strange, new fear, / How would it be if even to your door / I came to cry your pitying one day, / And you should lightly laugh and lightly say, / "That was a rose I gave you -- nothing more."