Rosemary

THERE was a long path through the fern,—
O Rosemary, dost thou not know?
A silver maple at the turn,
A little gate below.
There was a youth, there was a maid,
She in the light, he in the shade,
When all the world was fair to see,—
O Rosemary, O Rosemary!

There was a briar by the wall,—
O Rosemary, hast thou forgot?
A slender, tender hand and small,
Stained with a crimson spot.
There was a little cry of pain,
Two heads bent low, then raised again;
And all the sun seemed poured on me,—
O Rosemary, O Rosemary!

There came a sail upon the bay,—
O Rosemary, didst thou foreknow?

[...] Read more

poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 23, Issue 3 (1897)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!