The Tomb and the Rose

The Tomb said to the Rose: O Flower of Love, where goes Each tear which Dawn upon thy cheeks doth shed? The Rose said to the Tomb: What makest in thy gloom Impenetrable of the countless dead?

Said the Rose: O Tomb, of all these tears, In my recesses ere the sun appears, I make a perfume which the gods will prize. Said the Tomb: O plaintive Flower, Of every mortal I devour An angel do I make for Paradise.