Deep in a Yew-Sequestered Grove
Deep in a yew-sequestered grove
I sat and wept my heart away;
A child came by at close of day
With eyes as sweet as new-born love.
He came from sun-bleached meadows where
High on the hedge the topmost rose
Curtsies to every wind that blows.
A wanton of the summer air.
The sunset aureoled his brow,
Kindling the roses in his hand,
And by my side I saw him stand
To offer me his rose-red bough:
Take back thy gift—I sighed forlorn,
And showed where like the yew’s red seed,
My blood had trickled, bead on bead,
From wounds made by his cruel thorn.
He smiled and said:—Nay, take my Rose;
You know, when all is said and done,
There’s not a joy beneath the sun
Worth lovers’ joys but lovers’ woes.
