To a Cherokee Rose

Thy one white leaf is open to the sky,
And o'er thy heart swift lights and shadows pass, —
The wooing winds seem loath to wander by,
Jealous of sunshine and the summer grass.

Thy sylvan loveliness is pure and strong,
For thou art bright and yet not overbold —
Like a young maid apart from fashion's throng —
A virgin dowered with a heart of gold.