She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.

She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.

'Twas a yellow rose,
By that south window of the little house,
My cousin Romney gathered with read more

'Twas a yellow rose,
By that south window of the little house,
My cousin Romney gathered with his hand
On all my birthdays, for me. save the last;
And then I shook the tree too rough, too rough,
For roses to stay after.

Till the rose's lips grow pale
With her sighs.

Till the rose's lips grow pale
With her sighs.

Loveliest of lovely things are they
On earth that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its read more

Loveliest of lovely things are they
On earth that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its little hour
Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.

The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

O rose, who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet,
But pale, read more

O rose, who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet,
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubblewheat,--
Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

I wish I might a rose-bud grow
And thou wouldst cull me from the bower.
To place read more

I wish I might a rose-bud grow
And thou wouldst cull me from the bower.
To place me on that breast of snow
Where I should bloom a wintry flower.

A white rosebud for a guerdon.

A white rosebud for a guerdon.