Winter Roses

My garden roses long ago     Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks;     Their pale, fair sisters smile no more     Upon the sweet-brier stalks.     Gone with the flower-time of my life,     Spring's violets, summer's blooming pride,     And Nature's winter and my own     Stand, flowerless, side by side.     So might I yesterday have sung;     To-day, in bleak December's noon,     Come sweetest fragrance, shapes, and hues,     The rosy wealth of June!     Bless the young bands that culled the gift,     And bless the hearts that prompted it;     If undeserved it comes, at least     It seems not all unfit.     Of old my Quaker ancestors     Had gifts of forty stripes save one;     To-day as many roses crown     The gray head of their son.     And with them, to my fancy's eye,     The fresh-faced givers smiling come,     And nine and thirty happy girls     Make glad a lonely room.     They bring the atmosphere of youth;     The light and warmth of long ago     Are in my heart, and on my cheek     The airs of morning blow.     O buds of girlhood, yet unblown,     And fairer than the gift ye chose,     For you may years like leaves unfold     The heart of Sharon's rose