A Far-Off Rose
O far-off rose of long ago,
——An hour of sweet, an hour of red,
To live, to breathe, and then to go
——Into the dark ere June was dead!
Why say they: Roses shall return
——With every year as years go on?
New springtime and strange bloom, my rose,
——And alien June; but thou art gone.
——An hour of sweet, an hour of red,
To live, to breathe, and then to go
——Into the dark ere June was dead!
Why say they: Roses shall return
——With every year as years go on?
New springtime and strange bloom, my rose,
——And alien June; but thou art gone.
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