Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/253

Rh Which flower of life may smell the sweeter To love’s insensual sense, Which fragrance move with offering meeter His soothed omnipotence, Being chosen as fairer or as fleeter, Borne hither or borne hence,

Love’s foiled omniscience knows not: this Were more than all he knows With all his lore of bale and bliss, The choice of rose and rose, One red as lips that touch with his, One white as moonlit snows.

No hope is half so sweet and good, No dream of saint or sage So fair as these are: no dark mood But these might best assuage; The sweet red rose of babyhood, The white sweet rose of age.