Waves dark amid its woven light,
Bestudded thick with jewels rare,
Than royal diadem more bright,
Lo! the white hands of Day
Shall strip thy gauds away,
And in the twilight of the morn
Mock thy estate with cold-eyed scorn.
My love, O Rose! hath had a day
As fair, a fate as quick, as thine:
All wrapped in perfumed sleep I lay