TO HILDA OF HER ROSES

    ENOUGH has been said about roses To fill thirty thick volumes； There are as many songs about roses As there are roses in the world That includes Mexico . . . the Azores …… Oregon ……

    It is a pity your roses Are too late for Omar . . . It is a pity Keats has gone . . .

    Yet there must be something left to say Of flowers like these！ Adventurers, They pushed their way Through dewy tunnels of the June night Now they confer…… A little tremulous…… Dazzled¹ by the yellow sea-beach of morning

    If Herrick would tiptoe back . . . If Blake were to look this way Ledwidge, even！