To a Yellow Tea Rose

Having been all one space would allow,

she seems careless of her long perch now.

Once I saw her, light and tapered flame

hug and drink the green wick whence she came.

Then, if thunder cracked its windy whip,

firm as a boy she clung with her green grip.

(Time, the old black-snouted weevil stirred

under leaves, so still I scarcely heard.)

Now each married petal curls and smiles

goldenly. Her loosened breath beguiles

casual bees, and calm gardens of air

corrupt her, and I think she doesn't care.

A petal dropped! as if it were a glove-

I do not think this ripened queen will move

herself or save from all these royal clothes

one yellow rag to signify the rose.

Now I think I feel her lightly kiss

the hundred elements and tell them this:

"Farewell my dears, and may your praises win

back from Heaven such shapeliness again."