I entered dutiful, God knows, br The room in which I was to sit br With dreary unbelieving books. br It was surprising, I suppose, br To find such happy change in it: br There stood a most celestial rose br And looked the flower that my love looks br Who, where she turns her smiling face br Makes heavy earth a hopeful place. br br br I blessed the heart that wished me well br When I had been bereft of much, br And brought such word of beauty back. br I went like one escaping hell br To drink its fragrance and to touch, br And stroked, O ludicrous to tell! br A horrid thing of bric-a-brac, br A make-believe, a mockery, br And nothing that a rose should be. br br br Red real roses keep a thorn, br And save their loveliness a while br And in their perfect date unfold. br But you, beyond all women born, br Have spent so easily your smile, br That I am not the less forlorn br Nor these ironic walls less cold, br Because it smiles, the chilly rose, br As you are smiling, I suppose.