I saw, at eve, a wither’d rose—
The sun’s warm ray had curl’d it ;
Its powerless leaves it could not close,
And dewy tears impearl’d it :
I saw a moon-beam gently rest —
The withered flower it lighten’d ;
And though it could not dry its breast,
Those crystal drops it brighten’d.
I looked again—that moon-beam fair
Had gilded o’er its weeping,
And that sweet flow’ret calmly there
Beneath its ray was sleeping.
So when Misfortune’s night-blast sears,
Fair Friendship’s smile we borrow ;
And, tho’ it cannot dry our tears,
‘Twill chase the gloom of sorrow.
(Mary Anne Browne)
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Based on Topics: Sadness Poems, Fairness Poems, Sleep Poems, Sleeping PoemsBased on Keywords: rose-, night-blast, impearl