Classic Poem

Rosette, we loved him, you and I.
But you were as a tender bud,
Shut-eyed, that only feels the sky;
I, in my prime of blossomhood.

Both loved. I won. Three years have passed;
Three years you need not envy me:
The meteor was too bright to last
That crossed my life's dark canopy:
And now, in sunny climes you blow,
While all my petals strew the snow.