Fifth Opal

I dreamed my kisses on your hair Turned into roses. Circling bloom Crowned the loose-lifted tresses there. "O Love," I cried, "forever Dwell wreathed, and perfume-haunted By my heart's deep honey-breath!" But even as I bending looked, I saw The roses were not; and, instead, there lay Pale, feathered flakes and scentless Ashes upon your hair!