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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
“Would I were red!” cried a White Rose,
“Would I were white!” cried a red one.
“No longer the light Wind blows,
He went with the dear dead Sun.
Here we forever seem to stay,
And yet a Sun dies every day.”
“Would I were white!” cried a red one.
“No longer the light Wind blows,
He went with the dear dead Sun.
Here we forever seem to stay,
And yet a Sun dies every day.”
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |