On rose and thistle

Does sunlight stumble

Toward what?

But a withered prospect.



Through hour through year

Through vain attempt.

In party of soil and breed.



Be picturesque

Be bloodied in struggle

At one with earth as in design



-



But faint in breath

A scent of sadness

Spring up! And breast doth rise



In arch of flesh

Place colours of hope

Pray promise but from the father



So stay green grass

And red the flower

Of rose and thistle strain