A Provence rose

A little slender rose, with leaves of shining green and blossoms of purest white,--a little fragile thing, but fair, they said, growing in the casement in a chamber in a street.

Well, not seeing the stars as I strove to do, I took refuge in sorrow for my neighbor. It is well for your poet when he turns to a like resource. Too often I hear he takes, inst...

Well, this little, humble love-idyl, which grew into being in an attic, had a tender grace of its own; and I watched it with tenderness, and it seemed to me fresh as the dews of...

The sad day died; the night fell; the lattice was closed; the flute lay untouched. A great misery seemed to enfold us. True, we were no worse off than we had been when the same...