My Rose Tree

Rose Tree, O! my beauteous rose tree,
Often have I longed to know
How thy tender leaves were moulded—
How thy buds are burst, and blow.

I have watered, sunned, and trained thee,
And have watched thee many an hour,
Yet I never could discover
How a bud becomes a flower.

So, last night I thought about thee
On my pillow, till, at last,
I was gone in quiet slumber;
And a dream before me passed.

In it, I beheld my rose tree
Stripped of flower, and bud and leaf;
While thy naked stalk and branches
Filled me with surprise and grief.

Then, methought, I wept to see thee
Spoiled of all that made thee dear,
Till a band of smiling angels
Mildly shining, hovered near.

Gently as they gathered round thee,
All in silence, one of them
Laid his soft, fair fingers on thee,
Pulling leaves from out the stem.

One by one thy twigs he furnished
With a dress of foliage green;
While another angel followed,
Bringing buds the leaves between.

Then came one the buds to open;
He their silken rolls unsheathed,
While the one who tints the roses,
Through their loosened foldings breathed,

Then the angel of the odors
Filled each golden-bottomed cell,
Till, between the parting petals,
Free on air the fragrance fell;

Lifting then their shining pinions,
Quick the angels passed from sight;
Leaving, where aloft they vanished,
But a stream of fading light.

There I heard sweet strains of music,
And their voices far above,
Dying in the azure distance,
Naming thee a gift of love.

And, my rose tree stood before me,
Finished thus by angel hands;
Perfect in its bloom and fragrance,
Beautiful, as now it stands.

Hence, whenever I behold thee,
I shall think of angels too;
And the countless works of goodness
They descend on earth to do.

All unseen and silent, round us
They their careful watches keep;
Whether we may wake, or slumber,
Guardian angels never sleep!