Page:The Yellow Book - 13.djvu/172

154 Stephen said his roses grew
 * All upon a milk-white stem,

Side by side together two,
 * One a little up from them,

Sweeter than the rose's breath, Rosy as the sun riseth, Warm beside; that was his death. Stephen swore, as God knows well,
 * Just to touch that topmost bud,

He would give his soul to hell
 * Soul and body, bones and blood.

Hell has come before he dies; Burning, burning there he lies, But he neither speaks nor cries. Ah, what might those roses be?
 * Once, before the dawn was red,

Did he wander out to see
 * If the rose were still a-bed?

Did he find a rose-tree tall Standing by the garden wall? Did he touch the rose of all? Stephen, was it worth the pain,
 * Just to touch a breathing rose?

Ah, to think of it again,
 * Look, he smiles despite his throes.

Did he dream that hell would be Years hereafter? Now, you see, Hell is here, and where is she?

Rh