Roses

A red rose burns upon his breast

Where erst a white rose lay;

Above his fervent heart-throb pressed —

The red rose of To-day.

What recks he of the flower that dies —

( For roses bloom alway! )

Low in the dust, forgotten, lies

The rose of Yesterday.

But yet, To-day's red rose must die,

( For roses fade alway! )

To-morrow crushed, forgot,‘ twill lie —

A rose of Yesterday.