And told tales not too sanctified.
Abashed the timid blossoms shrank,
Changed colour, faded, and then died.
Yet roses, too, I gave to you,
I saw you place them near your heart,
You wore them all the evening through,
You wore them when we came to part.
But now you write to me, my dear,
And marvel that they are not dead,
Their beauty does not disappear,