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| Poems by Women |
Song
The bride, she wears a white, white rose -- the plucking
it was mine;
The poet wears a laurel wreath -- and I the laurel twine;
And
oh, the child, your little child, that's clinging close to you,
It laughs to
wear my violets -- they are so sweet and blue!
And I, I have a wreath to wear -- ah, never rue nor thorn!
I sometimes
think that bitter wreath could be more sweetly worn!
For mine is made of
ghostly bloom, of what I can't forget --
The fallen leaves of other crowns --
rose, laurel, violet!
From: Rittenhouse, Jessie B.
The Second Book of Modern Verse (1919).
This poet:
[Author index]
This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.
Citing poems from these pages:
| Author. "Poem Title." Women's History: Poems by Women. Jone Johnson Lewis, editor. URL: (date of logon) |
