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.
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/