ASHES OF ROSES
Soft on the sunset sky
Bright daylight closes,
Leaving when light doth die,
Pale hues that mingling lie—
Ashes of roses.
When love's warm sun is set,
Love's brightness closes;
Eyes with hot tears are wet,
In hearts there linger yet
Ashes of roses.
Elaine Goodale Eastman [1863-
SYMPATHY
The color gladdens all your heart;
You call it Heaven, dear, but I—
Now Hope and I are far apart—
Call it the sky.
I know that Nature's tears have wet
The world with sympathy; but you,
Who know not any sorrow yet,
Call it the dew.
Althea Gyles [? ]