Amid the Roses
There is tropical warmth and languorous life
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,"
With promises
Of sweet caresses, close and pure
Has a thorny whiff in the perfumed air.
There are thorns and love in the roses’ bed,
And Satan too
Must linger there;
So Satan’s wiles and the conscience stings,
Must now abide—the roses are dead.
Credit
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on June 16, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.
About this Poem
This poem was originally published in Violets and Other Tales (The Monthly Review, 1895).
Date Published
01/01/1895