The rose buds are hard and firm; Erect and proud they stand On slender stems, Wrapped in silk And tied with a velvet ribbon. "Tie the ribbon in my hair," She says, "Your gentle touch upon my brow Can make me close my eyes In sleepy pleasure." Low the candle burns And flickers shadows on the wall; It's crimson lips are closing Round the flame. As the flame dies So shall our live die? The roses stoop lower As their petals fall. So shall our love die? "What is it," She says. "Nothing," Say I, "Nothing but the west wind, The wind of change." |
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