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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408381" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Rose Lorraine</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet water-moons, blown into lights <br> Of flying gold on pool and creek, <br>And many sounds and many sights <br> Of younger days are back this week. <br>I cannot say I sought to face <br> Or greatly cared to cross again <br>The subtle spirit of the place <br> Whose life is mixed with Rose Lorraine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What though her voice rings clearly through <br> A nightly dream I gladly keep, <br>No wish have I to start anew <br> Heart fountains that have ceased to leap. <br>Here, face to face with different days, <br> And later things that plead for love, <br>It would be worse than wrong to raise <br> A phantom far too vain to move. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, Rose Lorraine -- ah! Rose Lorraine, <br> I'll whisper now, where no one hears -- <br>If you should chance to meet again <br> The man you kissed in soft, dead years, <br>Just say for once "He suffered much," <br> And add to this "His fate was worst <br>Because of me, my voice, my touch" -- <br> There is no passion like the first! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If I that breathe your slow sweet name, <br> As one breathes low notes on a flute, <br>Have vext your peace with word of blame, <br> The phrase is dead -- the lips are mute. <br>Yet when I turn towards the wall, <br> In stormy nights, in times of rain, <br>I often wish you could recall <br> Your tender speeches, Rose Lorraine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Because, you see, I thought them true, <br> And did not count you self-deceived, <br>And gave myself in all to you, <br> And looked on Love as Life achieved. <br>Then came the bitter, sudden change, <br> The fastened lips, the dumb despair: <br>The first few weeks were very strange, <br> And long, and sad, and hard to bear. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No woman lives with power to burst <br> My passion's bonds, and set me free; <br>For Rose is last where Rose was first, <br> And only Rose is fair to me. <br>The faintest memory of her face, <br> The wilful face that hurt me so, <br>Is followed by a fiery trace <br> That Rose Lorraine must never know. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I keep a faded ribbon string <br> You used to wear about your throat; <br>And of this pale, this perished thing, <br> I think I know the threads by rote. <br>God help such love! To touch your hand, <br> To loiter where your feet might fall, <br>You marvellous girl, my soul would stand <br> The worst of hell -- its fires and all!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408381" data-title="Rose Lorraine de Henry Kendall" data-description="Sweet water-moons, blown into lights Of flying gold on pool and creek, And many sounds and many sights Of younger days are back this week. I cannot say I sought to face Or greatly cared to..."></div> </div> </div>
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