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The Heart of A Poet

August 15, 2015


Beside my cottage door it grows,

The loveliest, daintiest flower that blows,

A sweet briar rose.

At dewy mourn or twilight’s close,

The rarest perfume from it flows,

This strange wild rose.

But when the rain-drops on it beat,

Ah, then, its odors grow more sweet,

About my feet.

Offtimes with loving tenderness,

Its soft green leaves I gently press,

In sweet caress.

A still more wondrous fragrance flows

The more my fingers close

And crush the rose.

Dear Lord, oh, let my life be so

Its perfume when tempests blow,

The sweeter flow.

And should it be Thy blessed will,

With crushing grief my soul to fill,

Press harder still.

And while its dying fragrance flows

I’ll whisper low, He loves me and knows

His crushed briar rose.

                                            author unknown to me..

4 Comments leave one →
  1. Ellen permalink
    August 15, 2015 3:02 PM


    Liked by 1 person

  2. August 15, 2015 8:57 PM

    :-). I just read this beautiful poem yesterday in Streams in the Desert. I think the author is Gertrude Woodcock Seibert. I found a book online called “The Sweet Briar Rose and Other Poems”.


    • August 17, 2015 10:47 AM

      Thank you for that information!! My day starts with Streams in the Desert… I will look up the book!


  3. September 21, 2015 6:41 PM

    befitting title!

    Liked by 1 person

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