The Presence Of The Rose

From out imprisoning petals—velvet, red—
Thy soul slips forth in fragrance wondrous sweet—
A silent subtle presence—never fled,
That makes thy mastery over me complete.
How can I doubt God and eternal things
When I look on thy beauty—lovely rose?
A sudden certainty within me springs—
The very gates of Heaven to me unclose!
Hast thou, then, waited all this weary time
From tiny bud to fullest crimson bloom—
With hope and patience wondrously sublime
Through dismal, dreary months of cold and gloom?
Hast waited for my sake—heroic flower—
That this great secret—hidden close with thee—
Should in the sacred silence of this hour
Be all unfolded and revealed to me?