A Little Budding Rose

Poem By Emily Jane Brontë

It was a little budding rose,
Round like a fairy globe,
And shyly did its leaves unclose
Hid in their mossy robe,
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell
It breathed from its heart invisible.

The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,
Its root has felt a worm,
And like a heart beloved and slighted,
Failed, faded, shrunk its form.
Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,
I stole thee from thy natal bower.

I was the worm that withered thee,
Thy tears of dew all fell for me;
Leaf and stalk and rose are gone,
Exile earth they died upon.
Yes, that last breath of balmy scent
With alien breezes sadly blent!

Comments about A Little Budding Rose

Funny how things fall in place even in the cosmos world. Do you believe in spirits I do. I look at as still people just without the earthly bodies. Even they have consciences funny but true!


Rating Card

3,0 out of 5
37 total ratings

Other poems of BRONTË

I Am The Only Being Whose Doom

I am the only being whose doom
No tongue would ask no eye would mourn
I never caused a thought of gloom
A smile of joy since I was born

"A Little While, A Little While..."

A little while, a little while,
The weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.

Come, Walk With Me

Come, walk with me,
There's only thee
To bless my spirit now -
We used to love on winter nights

I See Around Me Tombstones Grey

I see around me tombstones grey
Stretching their shadows far away.
Beneath the turf my footsteps tread
Lie low and lone the silent dead -

If Grief For Grief Can Touch Thee

If grief for grief can touch thee,
If answering woe for woe,
If any truth can melt thee
Come to me now!

"Me Thinks This Heart..."

Me thinks this heart should rest awhile
So stilly round the evening falls
The veiled sun sheds no parting smile
Nor mirth nor music wakes my Halls