 | The Autumn Garden |  |
65
The Rose of Sorrow
The royal rose our sovereign bard bewitches;
Three roses crown his lyre;
The red is Conquest; and the yellow, Riches;
The damask rose, Desire.
Three roses crown his lyre;
The red is Conquest; and the yellow, Riches;
The damask rose, Desire.
But o'er the airs with which his strings are ringing,
One rose hangs out of sight;
Of the white rose he never dreams of singing,—
For sorrow's rose is white.
One rose hangs out of sight;
Of the white rose he never dreams of singing,—
For sorrow's rose is white.
| The Autumn Garden | |