Red Rose
WHY do your leaves uncurl invisibly ?
Is it mere pride ?
When I behold your petals,
They lie immovably against your breast ;
Or opened wide,
Your shield thrown wide.
But none may watch the unveiling of your pride.
Why do you die so soon, so certainly ?
Death is disgrace ;
You should stay dying half your life ;
Your drooping face
Gives you when dying your divinest face.
But death’s pale colours are your sole disgrace.
MLA citation:
Macdonald, Leila. “Red Rose.” The Yellow Book, vol. 4, January 1895, p. 143. Yellow Book Digital Edition, edited by Dennis Denisoff and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2010-2014. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019. https://1890s.ca/YBV4_macdonald_red/