THIS rare south rose that thou didst take
And send to me across the snows.
Bidding me wear it for thy sake —
Oh, deem me not unkind !
I cannot wear it for thy sake,
For it has opened me the wild daybreak
And scented all the wind :
In Paestum's seven-petalled rose
My thirst I slake ;
Or warm my senses in a secret bower
Of inmost Persia : Beauty has such power
She cannot keep a bond ; but doth decree
Love in her affluent presence free.