Page:National Lyrics.pdf/86

Yet, oh! festal rose,
    I have seen thee lying
In thy bright repose
    Pillowed with the dying,

Thy crimson by the lip whence life's quick blood was flying.

Summer, hope, and love
    O'er that bed of pain,
Met in thee, yet wove
    Too, too frail a chain

In its embracing links the lovely to detain.

Smil'st thou, gorgeous flower?
    —Oh! within the spells
Of thy beauty's power,
    Something dimly dwells,

At variance with a world of sorrows and farewells.