Ghost of a rose-girl who blossomed to play with me—
Here in a land where the roses are dead?
Day-time and night-time the death-flower blazes,
Saffron at gun-lip and orange and red,
Here where June’s rose-tree lies shattered as May’s is,
Here where I dream of the nights that are dead—
Nights that were sweet with the scent and the touch of you,
Rose-girl in ninon with buds at your breast,
Rose-girl who promised and granted so much of you,
All that was tender and all that was best.