You have been my treasure, Rose Pilgrim,
Because of your beautiful name.
But because of your name I would not pamper you,
And I chose you to be planted in a difficult place,
In the pathway of the east wind;
Where at times, too, your roots might become thirsty,
Although I have a thirty foot hose.
You have thriven in spite of these disadvantages.
When your first shoots were battered by the spring storms,
Others pushed forth perseveringly.
You have been my treasure, Pilgrim Rose.
And you are up near the frontier, near the gateway,
So that when I come home, tired, in the evening,
Home to my hill-garden, Rose Pilgrim,
You are the first flower I find there,
You are the very first flower, my Rose Pilgrim,
Pilgrim, my sweet rose.
From a Garden in the Antipodes (Sidgwick & Jackson, 1929)