Roses

There is a time when the roses bloom.
Sweet and fair;
And the warm noon air
Sates itself with the rich perfume,
And the night-wind sighs through the scented gloom,
Sweet is the time when the roses bloom.

There is a time when the roses fade.
Fresh were they,
But the fervid day
Fainted them, and they mourned for shade,
Each sweet rose at her heart afraid.
Sad is the time when the roses fade.

There is a time when the roses die, —
Nothing left
But a stem bereft;
Petals sere on the brown earth lie;
Night winds mourn as they pass thereby.
Woe is the time when the roses die.

by H. M. Waithman