You, rose, lender of majesty, how simple you were
In ancient times, bare calyx with mere rim,
But now to us you are numberless,
Inexhaustible, - a presence.
In your profusion you appear layer upon layer,
Clothing your phantom body in sheerest splendour;
Whilst but a single leaf belies
And shuns all trace of raiment.
Your fragrance has called across the centuries
To us, uttering your sweetest of names;
A sudden whiff of fame in the wind.
But yet we can give it no name, we but guess ...
And memory turns to it ever again,
And midst our noisome hours it is granted unto us.
© Robert Temple 2010. Website designed by Jonathan Greet