The Spell Of The Rose

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'I mean to build a hall anon,
  And shape two turrets there,
  And a broad newelled stair,
And a cool well for crystal water;
  Yes; I will build a hall anon,
  Plant roses love shall feed upon,
  And apple trees and pear.'


  He set to build the manor-hall,
  And shaped the turrets there,
  And the broad newelled stair,
And the cool well for crystal water;
  He built for me that manor-hall,
  And planted many trees withal,
  But no rose anywhere.


  And as he planted never a rose
  That bears the flower of love,
  Though other flower's throve
A frost-wind moved our souls to sever
  Since he had planted never a rose;
  And misconceits raised horrid shows,
  And agonies came thereof.


  'I'll mend these miseries,' then said I,
  And so, at dead of night,
  I went and, screened from sight,
That nought should keep our souls in severance,
  I set a rose-bush. 'This,' said I,
  'May end divisions dire and wry,
  And long-drawn days of blight.'


  But I was called from earth - yea, called
  Before my rose-bush grew;
  And would that now I knew
What feels he of the tree I planted,
  And whether, after I was called
  To be a ghost, he, as of old,
  Gave me his heart anew!


  Perhaps now blooms that queen of trees
  I set but saw not grow,
  And he, beside its glow -
Eyes couched of the mis-vision that blurred me -
  Ay, there beside that queen of trees
  He sees me as I was, though sees
  Too late to tell me so!

© Thomas Hardy