AS the rose of the day lies dying With its petals strewn over the sea, A sail floats down from the low-eaved town And the salt, green stretch of the lea; While the breeze like a lover sighing Steals after its silvery crest, And the sun delays with his tenderest rays In a last caress on its breast. Then flutters out from the gloaming Where the lamps on the shore awake A butterfly caught with the amorous thought That the sail could be fond for its sake. Thus in vain were the lights of the homing When our hearts made their voyage of tears, Where the white wings call and the roseleaves fall On the stream of the vanished years. |