Reading Time: < 1 minute

Poem

44

If she had been the Mistletoe
And I had been the Rose—
How gay upon your table
My velvet life to close—
Since I am of the Druid,
And she is of the dew—
I’ll deck Tradition’s buttonhole—
And send the Rose to you.

Previous Poem
If It Had No Pencil
Next Poem
If The Foolish, Call Them “Flowers”