Rose Terry Cooke



Che Sara Sara

by Rose Terry Cooke

She walked in the garden
And a rose hung on a tree,
Red as heart's blood,
Fair to see.
Ah, kind south-wind,
Bend it to me!

But the wind laughed softly,
And blew to the sea.

High on the branches,
Far above her head,
Like a king's cup
Round, and red.
I am comely,
The maiden said,
I have gold like shore-sand,
I wish I were dead!

Blushes and rubies
Are not like a rose,
Through its deep heart
Love-life flows.
Ah, what splendors
Can give me repose!
What is all the world worth?
I cannot reach my rose.


Copyright 1888
William S. Gottsberger
11 Murray Street
New York
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