Dearest friend, I saw her image again:
My dark lady, though never was she mine.
While they say 'tis not, 'tis only my sin
In the tears of the stone angel divine.
Still I have the rose, ne'er given for fear.
Maybe it could have saved her from the cold.
When it snows, will it not melt in a year
If love is truly kind and kindness bold?
She had no hand to hold or friend to trust,
But for the unseen girl, there is no more strife.
The rose, like her, has returned to the dust,
But all flowers bring the soil new life.
'Tis better to get one rose while you've breath
Than to get a hundred thousand in death.
Share This Poem