OH, beware, sister mine, of the gardens Where the white roses bleed themselves red, And the winds are a'moan in the shadows O'er the ashes of red roses dead. There the dawn is a message of anguish, And the merciful angels behold The scarred and the shriveling petals Of roses adrift from the fold. And their tears gently fall through the stardust, A sorrow-torn, pitiful dew, On the lives that have lost all their fragrance, On the dreams that can never come true. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: THE UNKNOWN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE FAT LADY by HAYDEN CARRUTH EARTH IS ENOUGH by EDWIN MARKHAM UNDER A PATCHED SAIL by MARIANNE MOORE THE RIGHT TO GRIEF by CARL SANDBURG |