|AMID THE ROSES.|
There is tropical warmth and languerous
Where the roses lie
In a tempting drift
Of pink and red and golden light
Untouched as yet by the pruning knife.
And the still, warm life of the roses fair
That whisper "Come,"
Of sweet caresses, close and pure
Has a thorny whiff in the perfumed air.
There are thorns and love in the roses'
And Satan too
Must linger there;
So Satan's wiles and the conscience
Must now abide -- the roses are dead .