Classic Poem

It was in the days, in the days of the roses,
When under your kisses my sorrow was sped,
Now autumn blossoms the field encloses,
And autumn blossoms enwreath our head —
And Love and rejoicing and May are dead,
And the world is windy and waste and wide:
The days of the roses have long since fled,
And the scarlet flower of love has died.

Once thought I your lips with unperishing kisses
To kiss, that as mantles of queens are red,
Once thought I no love in the world as this is,
O beautiful love, O dream that is dead —
But the wind's in the tree tops, the leaves are all shed,
They are borne down the terrible mountain side;
All sweet things flee as our summer has fled,
And the scarlet flower of love has died.

We two of the honey of love have eaten,
Have drunk deep draughts of the gold sunshine,
But the key of the grove we were wont to meet in,
Where bloomed that flower as red as wine,
Is lost in some mystical land divine —
No refuge our love has, no place to abide:
In our grove dwells the autumn, 'mid woodland and vine —
And the scarlet flower of love has died.

L'envoi

Nor fairy nor elf-queen can alter our fate,
The magical word is forever denied;
The past is dead, and the charm too late,
And the scarlet flower of love has died.