She would none of all my posies–
Bade me gather her blue roses.
Half the world I wandered through,
Seeking where such flowers grew.
Half the world unto my quest
Answered me with laugh and jest.
Home I came at wintertide,
But my silly love had died
Seeking with her latest breath
Roses from the arms of Death.
It may be beyond the grave
She shall find what she would have.
Mine was but an idle quest–
Roses white and red are best!
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To our private taste, there is always something a little exotic,
are yet so manifestly the product of other skies. They affect uslike translations; the very fauna and flora are alien, remote;the dog’s-tooth violet is but an ill substitute for the rathe primrose,nor can we ever believe that the wood-robin sings as sweetly in Aprilas the English thrush. — THE ATHEN]AEUM.Buy my English posies!Kent and Surrey…
1916
When the war is laid aside,If it be proven that I am heFor whom a world has died?If it be proven that all my good,And the greater good I will make,Were purchased me by a multitudeWho suffered for my sake?That I was delivered by mere mankindVowed to one sacrifice,And not, as I hold them, battle-blind,But…