Amid the Roses

Amid the Roses

 by Alice Dunbar-Nelson

There is tropical warmth and languorous life

    Where the roses lie

    In a tempting drift

Of pink and red and golden light

Untouched as yet by the pruning knife.

And the still, warm life of the roses fair

    That whisper "Come,"

    With promises

Of sweet caresses, close and pure

Has a thorny whiff in the perfumed air.

There are thorns and love in the roses’ bed,

    And Satan too

    Must linger there;

So Satan’s wiles and the conscience stings,

Must now abide—the roses are dead.