Roses

A red rose burns upon his breast Where erst a white rose lay; Above his fervent heart-throb pressed— The red rose of To-day.

What recks he of the flower that dies— (For roses bloom alway!) Low in the dust, forgotten, lies The rose of Yesterday.

But yet, To-day's red rose must die, (For roses fade alway!) To-morrow crushed, forgot, 'twill lie— A rose of Yesterday.