THE ROSE OF THE PRAIRIE
by ANDREW DOWNING

Contributed by Alice Horner
From "The Trumpeters And Other Poems" Sherman, French & Company, Boston 1913

The Rose of The Prairie

The dewdrops have vanished, the bee seeks the clover,
    To revel awhile in its sweetness and bloom,
But passes the blossoms our hands scatter over
    The little green roof of our lost darling’s tomb.
She paled in the twilight, and died on the morrw,
    She died in the morning of beauty and love;
The flowers drooped in sadness, the birds told their sorrow
    Aloud to each other in orchard and grove;
For every sweet thing loved the blithe, gentle Mary,
    The pride of the household, the Rose of the Prairie!

She knew the sly nook where the blue-bird had hidden,
    It’s bright, little eggs in a soft, downy nest,
And kept well the secret, lest strangers, unbidden,
    Should visit the place, and the treasures molest.
The faithful old dog by her side, in her rambles,
    Was never more faithful and constant, than she;
She shared with the lambkins their innocent gambols,
    And danced with the brook in its frolicsome glee, --
Their loving companion, the glad-hearted Mary,
The joy of the household, the Rose of the Prairie!

She joined the wood-thrush in the song he was singing,
    And warbled it sweetly the long summer day,
And stole from the rose, in the wilderness springing,
    One half of its glory and beauty away
To bloom on her cheek; and the violet peeping
    Up through the plumed grasses, behold with surprise
Its purple-tinged azure so dreamily sleeping
    Far in the clear depths of her beautiful eyes.
So, every fair thing claimed a kinship with Mary,
The pride of the household, the Rose of the Prairie!

Alas! that the wild-bird, whose song is the essence
    Of music the sweetest, must carol alone!
Alas! That the blossoms which smiled in her presence
    Must wither and fade by the little, white stone
That marks the green grave of the sweetest of mortals
    That ever hath wandered on the earth for a time, --
Whose feet have passed in through the great, pearly portals,
    Whose voice swells the anthem of glory sublime,
We murmur, in tears, "fare-thee-well, gentle Mary,
Lost joy of the household, the Rose of the Prairie!"

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