I just wanted to write:The Sick Rose

Recently I read this beautiful poem penned by William Blake:
The Sick Rose

O rose, thou art sick;
The invisible worm
That flies at night,
In the howling storm

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy

I am no expert on Blake, or even on poetry, though I fall more and more in love with it each year. Therefore, as you read my words, don't discredit me for what could be a lack of knowledge. Consider my point of view strictly New Criticism.
The rose is beautiful. It is a symbol of many things: love, passion, death. Usually the color of the rose affects the symbolism. The particular rose that is sick here is a red rose, though, lying in its "bed/Of crimson joy." Red roses speak of romantic love. Blake possibly wrote of a love lost to some incurable illness. Interestingly, he spends more time describing the germ-bearing worm than his love. Perhaps this is because of the immediate and powerful image the rose already presents to a reader. The worm is evil, flying under cover of darkness in a "howling storm," feeding on anxiety and fear. It finds out the rose's bed, a place of intimacy and safety and presents a form of love that is both dark and somehow secret. Obviously, that which destroys the rose is deceiving.
As I consider a deeper meaning for myself in the lyric, I am reminded of the Church's beauty. To the Son of God we are a bride. As his bride, he sees us as a rose of sorts, beautiful to behold. Like the rose in the poem, though, we are sick. A dark presence has bought our love and seduced us away from our place as the bride. Look with me at Ezekiel chapter 16.
To paraphrase God's word, he told the Jews that their heritage was like a baby whose cord had not been cut, who had not been washed but had been tossed away like garbage. Then, the heavenly Father found the crying child and adopted it as His own. He raised it as cared for the nation, but they, when they considered themselves mature, began to prostitute themselves. Their bodies and innocence were sold, or even given away.
The rest of the chapter details the sacrifice of their children, their passing on of the dark perversion of love to their children, and God's lament over them of, "Woe to you!" It isn't easy reading. God ends, reminding them of His atonement for them, but he tells them that their shame will follow.
I may be stretching it, but I believe that The Sick Rose speaks like this chapter of Ezekiel, only kinder. We are the apple of God's eye, the beauty that he saved from certain damnation and eternal death. Yet we despise him. Daily I see it, and I take part in it. I go my own way and look for things that satisfy immediately, sacrificing a glorious relationship. The worm of idolatry and sin does my life destroy.
Blake offers no solace, but God does. He has given his son for us. He has mad atonement and killed the vile invisible worm we tend to "love" so much. For this we should be thankful and return to our marriage bed of crimson joy with Christ our groom, savior, friend, and God.