Last night a little rose of love was laid
Softly in this poor hand, by one who knew
Not what most gracious breeze from heaven blew
The blossom in his path; but since, he said,
All loveliest things he summoned to his aid
To win me,—let the fragrant flower that grew
Surely in Paradise to help him woo
And gain his wish,—be mine; then half afraid,
Here on my breast I laid it, where it glows
With such rich sudden beauty, that my eyes,
Quickened by some new instinct, recognize
What is indeed my own; for the fair rose,—
The rose of love bewilderingly sweet—
From my own heart had fallen at his feet!