It was peeping through the brambles.
that little wild white rose,
Where the hawthorn hedge was planted,
my garden to enclose.
All beyond was fern and heather, on
the breezy, open moor;
All within was sun and shelter, and
the wealth of beauty's store.
But I did not heed the fragrance of
flow'ret or of tree,
For my eyes were on that rosebud, and
it grew too high for me.
In vain I strove to reach it through
the tangled mass of green,
It only smiled and nodded behind its
Thorny screen.
Yet Through that summer morning I
lingered near the spot:
Oh, why do things seem sweeter if we
possess them not?
My garden buds were blooming, but all
that I could see
Was that little mocking wild rose,
hanging just too high for me.
So in life's wider garden there are
buds of promise, too.
Beyond our reach to gather, but not
beyond our view;
And like the little charmer that
tempted me astray,
They steal out half the brightness of
many a summer's day.
Oh, hearts that fail with longing for
some forbidden, tree,
Look up and learn a lesson from my
white rose and me.
'Tis wiser far to number the blessings
at my feet,
Than ever to be sighing for just one
bud more sweet.
My sunbeams and my shadows fall
from a pierced Hand,
I can surely trust His wisdom since
His heart I understand;
And maybe in the morning, when His
blessed face I see,
He will tell me why my wild white rose grew
just a little too high for me.
--Ellen H. Willis.