Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/154

A ROSARY.

Roses, roses, roses,
 All the world over;
Daisies in the mowing,
 On the hill-side clover;
But the sweet sad roses
 And the mad bee-lover
  Come in June.

Roses, roses, roses,
 Red in the grasses,
Snowy in the garden.
 When the hot sun passes
Then the singing summer dies,
 And snow the rose surpasses,
  In the moon.

Oh, the fair sad roses!
 Sad for their loving,
Left alone to rain-drops,
 When the bee goes roving,