Rose

*The poet sings of rose*

He came and took me by the hand up to a red rose tree,he kept his meaning to himself,but gave a rose to me.

I did not pray him to lay bare the mystery to me.Enough the rose was heaven to smell and his own face to see.

All mysteries In this one flower meet and intervine,the universal is concrete,the human and devine,In one unique and perfect thing,are fused into a unity of love,this rose as behold.

The tears of christ are in it and his blood has dyed it red,I could not see it but for him.because he led me to the love of god,from which all beauty springs.I and my rose are one.

In the first part is philosophical,and the second part is religious.but such image or symbols as blood and tears are required to realize the oneness of the rose and myself.