TO ROSES
Roses, I hate you! since you still can bloom
Contentedly, where living love is not!
Can fling wan fragrance thro' this empty room,
Lift languid petals shimmering 'mid the gloom
Where love is not.
Roses, I hate you! that you do not die
Disconsolate, since love himself is dead.
These ghosts of burnt-out kisses drifting by,