XII.

Yea, the roses are still on fire

With the bygone heat of July,

Though the least little wind drifting by

Shake a rose-leaf or two from the brier,

Be it never so soft a sigh.

Ember of love still glows and lingers

Deep at the red heart's smouldering core;

With the sudden passionate throb of yore

We shook as our eyes and clinging fingers

Met once only to meet no more.