Lesbia's lover when bereaved In pagan times of yore Ere the gladsome tidings ran Of reunion evermore, He wended from the pyre Now hopeless in return -- Ah, the vial hot with tears For the ashes cold in urn! But I, the Rose's lover, When my beloved goes Followed by the Asters Toward the sepulchre of snows, Then, solaced by the Vial Less grieve I for the Tomb, Not widowed of the fragrance If parted from the bloom -- Parted from the bloom That was but for a day; Rose! I dally with thy doom: The solace will not stay! There is nothing like the bloom; And the Attar poignant minds me Of the bloom that's passed away. |