There grew a rose more wonderful
Than ever Saadi sang.
Its loveliness occult and strange,
A rapture and a pang.
Its petals had the pulsing touch
That shakes the blood with fire.
Its warm deeps were the avatar
Of unassuaged desire.
His scents and hushed seraglio dreams
Were in its subtle breath,
The madness of the Maenad's joy,
The tenderness of death.
Its soul was all the mystic East,
Its heart was all the South, —
Till love and tears transmuted it
To the dark rose of thy mouth.