There lay thy gift—a faded rose!
It was as if an altar burned
With sacrifices, and I turned—
Beloved, do not think me weak!
Tears, wild with grief, fled down my cheek,
And to my lips arose a prayer
That I might die while pausing there!
My song is o'er; 'twill only tell,
To some who know and love me well,
At times, within my inmost soul,