More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold

It lay upon thee where the crimson was,---

Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee!

As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---

If dropping now,---would darreａd•99ｃsｗ.ｃomken where it met thee.

If breathing now,---unsweetened would forego thee.

Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away

The sun that used to smite thee,

The fly that lit upon thee,

O Rose! who dares to name thee?

And, white first, 九九藏書grow incarnadined, because

But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,---

If shining now,---with not a hue would light thee.

The heart doth recognise thee,

If lighting now,---would coldly ｒｅaｄ.9９ｃｓｗ•comoverrun thee.

No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;

To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,

And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,

Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee.

And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,九*九*藏*書---

Yes, and the heart doth owe thee

Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,

An odour up the lane to last all day,---

If passing now,---would blindly overlook thee.

The dew that used to wet thee,

The bee that once did suck thee,

Though seeing now九九藏書 those changes that disguise thee.

The breeze that used to blow thee

Along thy leafs pure edges, after heat,---

Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,---

And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,

Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,---