The old house where the roses grew.
You gave them from the garden wall,
Your roses, faint of breath and hue,
Whose lovely like I never knew.
Can I my flock of memories call
To leave it when spring blossoms fall,
The old house where the roses grew?
No, no, they flit about the hall,
And beat their wings, and cry for you.
Be still: no more, no more at all,