3, The Rose of Shadow
The royal rose our sovereign bard bewitches;
Three roses crown his lyre;
The red is Conquest; and the yellow, Riches;
The damask rose, Desire.
But o'er the airs with which his strings are ringing,
One rose hangs out of sight;
Of the white rose he never dreams of singing,—
For Sorrow's rose is white.
Three roses crown his lyre;
The red is Conquest; and the yellow, Riches;
The damask rose, Desire.
But o'er the airs with which his strings are ringing,
One rose hangs out of sight;
Of the white rose he never dreams of singing,—
For Sorrow's rose is white.
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