- THE ROSE-LEAVES
AS long as the roots of the green, green grass
Grow cool in the kindly clay,
The rose-leaves of sorrow will fall and pass
And drift on the wind away.
Oh, rose-leaves, rose-leaves of delicate sorrow!
Oh, rose-leaves passionate!
Over the grasses of tomorrow
You drift on the wind of fate.
Lightly, lightly you fall and drift,
Delicate rose-leaves of exquisite pain;
But something is left that no wind can lift,
That returns again, that returns again.
Quivering rose-leaves, lighter than air,
The wind may carry you away;
But your passionate perfume is everywhere,
The pitiless perfume of yesterday.
And tho' the roots of the green, green grass
Grow cool for the feet of tomorrow;
And tho' on the wind they drift and pass,
The delicate rose-leaves of sorrow,
There are things that stay, there are things that stay,
For the heart to feed upon.
Though today is more than yesterday,
And the grass grows green in the kindly clay.
And the wind has carried the past away,
And the rose-leaves of sorrow have gone.