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  • Rose, I envy You for you grow in glory
    And from the bursting of Your dream
    Until the end
    When in an extravagance of feeling
    You threw Your petals on the grass
    You are the Poet of all things that pass.

    The delicacy of Your youth
    Pushing with steady purpose to full bloom
    Must amaze the eye of gods and cynics
    And then the glory of Your ripening
    As, with a cry, You spill Yourself
    With such happiness of heart
    That even Your petals on the ground lying
    Are not a cause of mourning or sighing.

    But a stab of conviction, a whiplash
    Recalling to the mind and will
    The gentle, living beauty that surrounds us still. X
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