The Rose was given to man for this:
 He, sudden seeing it in later years,
Should swift remember Love's first lingering kiss
 And Grief's last lingering tears; 
Or, being blind, should feel its yearning soul
 Knit all its piercing perfume round his own,
Till he should see on memory's ample scroll
 All roses he had known; 

Or, being hard, perchance his finger-tips
 Careless might touch the satin of its cup,
And he should feel a dead babe's budding lips
 To his lips lifted up; 

Or, being deaf and smitten with its star,
 Should, on a sudden, almost hear a lark
Rush singing up­the nightingale afar
 Sing through the dew-bright dark; 

Or, sorrow-lost in paths that round and round
 Circle old graves, its keen and vital breath
Should call to him within the yew's bleak bound
 Of Life, and not of Death.