When The Rose Is Faded


Walter De La Mare

When the rose is faded,

Memory may still dwell on

Her beauty shadowed,

And the sweet smell gone.

That vanishing loveliness,

That burdening breath,

No bond of life hath then,

Nor grief of death.

'Tis the immortal thought

Whose passion still

Makes the changing

The unchangeable.

Oh, thus thy beauty,

Loveliest on earth to me,

Dark with no sorrow, shines

And burns, with thee.

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