Poetry Archives

I sent my love two roses,—one
  As white as driven snow,
And one a blushing royal red,
  A flaming Jacqueminot.

I meant to touch and test my fate;
  That night I should divine,
The moment I should see my love,
  If her true heart were mine.

For if she holds me dear, I said,
  She’ll wear my blushing rose;
If not, she’ll wear my cold Lamarque,
  As white as winter’s snows.

My heart sank when I met her: sure
  I had been overbold,
For on her breast my pale rose lay
  In virgin whiteness cold.

Yet with low words she greeted me,
  With smiles divinely tender;
Upon her cheek the red rose dawned,—
  The white rose meant surrender.