And weird the moon from heights above viewed
The night, by breath of fragrant bowers
Made tremulous; the light, livid-hued,
Slept soft on grave and cross and flowers.
When suddenly upon that mound—lo!
The buds upon each twig and shoot
Began to burst, and each flower tapped slow
Upon the casket with its root.
“Admit me now to that fair cheek,” spake
The rose, “to drink a bit of blood,