Caroling Dusk/Requiem
For works with similar titles, see Requiem.
REQUIEM
She wears, my beloved, a rose upon her head.Walk softly angels, lest your gentle treadAwake her to the turmoil and the strife,The dissonance and hates called life.
She sleeps, my beloved, a rose upon her head.Who says she will not hear, that she is dead?The rose will fade and lose its lovely hue,But not, my beloved, will fading wither you.