( Originally Published 1916 )
ROSE of the south, whose young fair face Has borrowed all the rose's grace, Straight as a lance, you aptly claim The heritage of Manfred's name : Slight as its shaft to me you seem
To glide from out some old-world dream, Some rare and unensanguined page Of story from the middleage ; The princess of some castled isle Who earned a ransom with a smile, Or held at bay man's brute offence Disarmed before her innocence. Still, though you grace our graceless days And meet me in romanceless ways, I see across your eyes' dark glance The flashing of the Suabian's lance,
And through the smile of your young mouth Immortal roses of the south.