The Betrayal of the Rose

A white rose had a sorrow—     And a strange sorrow! For her sisters they had none, As they all sat around her     Each on her feudal throne.       A strange sorrow For one with no to-morrow, No yesterday, to call her own,       But only to-day. A white rose had a sorrow—     And a sweet sorrow! She had locked it in her breast     Save that one outer petal,     Less guarded than the rest       (Oh, fond sorrow!),     From the red rose did borrow Blushes, and the truth confessed       In the red rose’s way!