I said to a bride one night in June,
“How large is a rose; how large is a rose?”
“By the memory sweet of an old love tune,
And the vows that were pledged by the light of the moon,
Measured by these, all passed too soon.
Ah, that’s the size of a rose.”
But still my question perseveres,
“Oh, sorrowing one, how large is a rose?”
And withered and dead as her hopes and fears
She showed me the roses of other years,