Sidney Lanier’s speaker longs for his songs to do what roses do: turn the “clod of misery” into something bright and intoxicating. In the first section, he speaks to the red rose and to his own soul, aching for an open, fearless vulnerability—a breast bared to the day, calm and clean. But the wind carries the petals away, and all he can do is pray that his own art will scatter as freely. The second half moves to the white tuberose, a flower whose scent seems born from hidden prayer rather than open passion. Here the soul is told to nestle inside the bloom and let its meditations ripen, even nourished by death. The mood is reverent and yearning, touched with melancholy. The speaker feels a quiet desperation to refine his art into something pure and self-giving, as if a poem could be not just made but breathed—a fate shaped by stillness and grace.
Rose-Morals — Summary
I. -- Red.
Would that my songs might be What roses make by day and night -- Distillments of my clod of misery Into delight.
Soul, could'st thou bare thy breast As yon red rose, and dare the day, All clean, and large, and calm with velvet rest? Say yea -- say yea!
Ah, dear my Rose, good-bye; The wind is up; so; drift away. That songs from me as leaves from thee may fly, I strive, I pray.
II. -- White.
Soul, get thee to the heart Of yonder tuberose: hide thee there -- There breathe the meditations of thine art Suffused with prayer.
Of spirit grave yet light, How fervent fragrances uprise Pure-born from these most rich and yet most white Virginities!
Mulched with unsavory death, Grow, Soul! unto such white estate, That virginal-prayerful art shall be thy breath, Thy work, thy fate.