<h2><SPAN name="chap23"></SPAN>TO HILDA OF HER ROSES</h2>
<p class="poem">
Enough has been said about roses<br/>
To fill thirty thick volumes;<br/>
There are as many songs about roses<br/>
As there are roses in the world<br/>
That includes Mexico … the Azores … Oregon…<br/>
<br/>
It is a pity your roses<br/>
Are too late for Omar…<br/>
It is a pity Keats has gone…<br/>
<br/>
Yet there must be something left to say<br/>
Of flowers like these!<br/>
Adventurers,<br/>
They pushed their way<br/>
Through dewy tunnels of the June night<br/>
Now they confer….<br/>
A little tremulous….<br/>
Dazzled by the yellow sea-beach of morning<br/>
<br/>
If Herrick would tiptoe back…<br/>
If Blake were to look this way<br/>
Ledwidge, even!<br/></p>
<p class="left">
GRACE HAZARD CONKLING</p>
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