The Poetry Corner


By Paul Laurence Dunbar

I grew a rose once more to please mine eyes. All things to aid it--dew, sun, wind, fair skies-- Were kindly; and to shield it from despoil, I fenced it safely in with grateful toil. No other hand than mine shall pluck this flower, said I, And I was jealous of the bee that hovered nigh. It grew for days; I stood hour after hour To watch the slow unfolding of the flower, And then I did not leave its side at all, Lest some mischance my flower should befall. At last, oh joy! the central petals burst apart. It blossomed--but, alas! a worm was at its heart!