Wild Roses

Oh, the pale-red twin wild roses
By the path adown the dingle,
Where the Summer's heart reposes,
Where the witching wood-scents mingle
Where, for once, the sunbeams weltered,
As the harps of heaven sounded;
Where the peace of angels sheltered,
And the hour of hours was rounded!
And we watched each frail red blossom
As the breezes set them swaying,
And she trembled at my bosom
As they nodded in their playing,
Mid the rustling of the grasses
And the murmur of the river,
Oh, the joy that thrills and passes!
Oh, the dream that lives forever!
I will tread that path in Springtime
With the vale yet bare of flowers,
When the robins find their wing-time,
And I'll pray the April showers:
"By the woe that life discloses,
Be ye gentle in your weeping
On the bed of our wild roses,
On the grave where she is sleeping."