Tell me, O Rose, what thing it is
That now appears, now vanishes?
Surely it took its fire-green hue
From daybreaks that it glittered through;
Quick, for this sparkle of the dawn
Glints through the garden and is gone.
What was the message, Rose, what word;
Delight foretold, or hope deferred?
The Round-Up
Down, down the wild canyons we go in a flurry;