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87. | [LXXXVII. When my dead roses bloom once more] |
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The book of the dead | ||
176
[LXXXVII. When my dead roses bloom once more]
When my dead roses bloom once more,
And these dark daisy-leaves with stars
Of white are powdered o'er and o'er,
And through yon rusty lattice-bars
And these dark daisy-leaves with stars
Of white are powdered o'er and o'er,
And through yon rusty lattice-bars
The jessamine thrusts its yellow tips,
And the bright pansy pranks its head,
And the tall lily's pallid lips
Part slowly, and from green to red
And the bright pansy pranks its head,
And the tall lily's pallid lips
Part slowly, and from green to red
The beaded grapes begin to turn,
And round the outskirts of the lawn
The woodbine blossoms faintly burn,—
Ah! then, perhaps, on me may dawn
And round the outskirts of the lawn
The woodbine blossoms faintly burn,—
Ah! then, perhaps, on me may dawn
The morning of a better day;
And this sad heart its woful hue
May reverently put away,
And deck itself in something new.
And this sad heart its woful hue
May reverently put away,
And deck itself in something new.
The book of the dead | ||