Poetry about Rose O'Neale Greenhow

A poem by Lady Jane Fulerton


I saw her last, one summer eve
in London in a room
Where brilliant lights and converse gay
Banished all thoughts of gloom.

Her hair was decked with roses red,
Bright jewels on her breast.
Her dark and most expressive eyes,
The keenest hopes expressed.

She poured in English statesman's ears
Her pleadings for the South;
It was a joy to her to feel
They heard them from her mouth.

Fierce was her glance, and firce her words,
She loathed the northern foe;
With that intensity of hate,
Impassioned women know.

Grand, but appalling was the burst
Of passion shook her frame,
When from her breast the rushing tide
Of vengeful anger came.

It ceased at last, grace won the day;
She knelt, and though her fears
And eager hopes for her own land,
Were strong as in past years.

The frantic curse died on her lips,
Her own wrongs she forgave.
The heart that had been fierce became
Thenceforward only brave.

Her strength, her life, to the same cause
Were still as wildly giv'n;
But a dark cloud no longer stood
Betwixt her soul in heaven.



SOURCE: "REBEL ROSE", by Ishbell Ross.