Classic Poem

I.

The rosebud that you gave me, love,
Beneath the lintel vine,
Although it fades in other's eyes,
Unfaded seems in mine;
No common flower it seems to me,
On sunshine fed and dew,
By others reared, by others viewed,
Then plucked at last by you.

II.

But, 'tis linked in thought with you, love,
With you, and only you,
As if it in your bosom chaste,
Among the lilies grew;
As if it in your bosom grew,
O gentle maid and fair,
Grew close upon your nursing heart,
And fed its beauty there.

III.

And you pressed it to your lips, love,
The night you gave it me,
And thence I deem, its life, its sweets,
Its deathless bloom must be:
It drew its vermeil from your lips,
'Tis fragrant with your breath,
It lives upon that balmy kiss,
That gives it life in death.

IV.

But if they see best who deem, love,
It sere and yellow grows,
I'll tell you why the life and bloom
Have left the withered rose:
The flower upon my heart has lain,
And my heart has drawn away
The life, the sweets it drew from yours
What time on yours it lay.