Rose Of The Desert

A poem by Thomas Moore

Rose of the Desert! thou, whose blushing ray,
Lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away;
No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh,--
In vestal silence left to live and die.--
Rose of the Desert! thus should woman be,
Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee.

Rose of the Garden, how, unlike thy doom!
Destined for others, not thyself, to bloom;
Culled ere thy beauty lives thro' half its day;
A moment cherished, and then cast away;
Rose of the Garden! such is woman's lot,--
Worshipt while blooming--when she fades, forgot.

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