There thy rich leaves to crimson glory burst,
Link’d with no dim remembrance of decay.
Rose! for the banquet gather’d, and the bier;
Rose! colour’d now by human hope and pain
Surely where death is not—nor change, nor fear,
Yet may we meet thee, joy’s own flower again!
DREAMS OF HEAVEN.
“We colour heaven with our own human thoughts,
Our vain aspirings, fond remembrances,
Our passionate love, that seems unto itself