English poem
The Autumn Rose
by Antoinette de Coursey Patterson (1866–1923)
A Ghostly visitant, pale Autumn Rose, Haunting my garden that you once loved well: Ah, how you queened it ere the sweet June's close, And blushed anew to hear the zephyrs tell Your loveliness was fairer than a dream! But now your pride of beauty is all gone, And like some poor sad penitent you seem, Whose drooping head but hides a visage wan And wasted by the coldness of the world. Upon your faint sweet breath is borne a sigh, Within your petals lies a tear impearled; I hear you to my garden say good-bye.
A sudden wind—the pale rose-petals blow Hither and yon—or are they flakes of snow?