 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
168
RED AND WHITE ROSES.
Roses the lover gives to his love;
Roses we lay on the breast of death
That nevermore fondest whisper can move,—
Which is the sweeter, answer and prove,
Passionate love, or sleep without breath?
Roses we lay on the breast of death
That nevermore fondest whisper can move,—
Which is the sweeter, answer and prove,
Passionate love, or sleep without breath?
For love you burn with a crimson fire,
For death you are pale as the winter's snow:
Warm for the one, with the heart's desire,
Cold for the other, since hopes expire,—
Which is the sweeter? When shall we know?
For death you are pale as the winter's snow:
Warm for the one, with the heart's desire,
Cold for the other, since hopes expire,—
Which is the sweeter? When shall we know?
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |