Ah me, if I grew sweet to man

Ah me, if I grew sweet to man
It was but as a rose that can
No longer keep the breath that heaves
And swells among its folded leaves.
The pressing fragrance would unclose
The flower, and I became a rose,
That unimpeachable and fair
Planted an odour in the air.
No art I used men's love to draw;
I lived but by my being's law,
As roses are by heaven designed
To bring the honey to the wind.
I found there is scant sun in spring,
I found the blast a riving thing;
Yet even ruined roses can
No other than be sweet to man.