Ah me, if I grew sweet to men

AH me, if I grew sweet to man 
It was but as a rose that can 
No longer keep the breath that heaves 
And swells among its folded leaves. 

The pressing fragrance would unclose 
The flower, and I became a rose, 
That unimpeachable and fair 
Planted an odour in the air. 

No art I used men's love to draw ; 
I lived but by my being's law, 
As roses are by heaven designed 
To bring the honey to the wind. 

I found there is scant sun in spring, 
I found the blast a riving thing ; 
Yet even ruined roses can 
No other than be sweet to man.