I brought you a rose, A symphony of perfumed color That you might breathe its loveliness And drink its beauty,— A toast to our love. You smiled upon me As a man upon a child Humoring a tinsel whim, And pushing the rose from my lips You pressed me to you. The rose fell in the mud. Telling me my lips were sweeter Than the buds of flowers, You poured intoxicating liquors Into my cup like ears. Yet I drank slowly And did not stagger And all the time I saw the rose in the mud Staining the soft clay with red blood. "Roses do not bleed," I thought sensibly. Suddenly feeling the emptiness of my heart I knew——— The blood was mine! |