Flicker and flutter the lights and shades,
And I see the face of a queen of maids
Whose memory comes with the scent of roses.

Visions arise of a scene of mirth,
And a ball-room belle that superbly poses --
A queenly woman of queenly worth,
And I am the happiest man on earth
With a single flower from a bunch of roses.

Only her memory lives to-night --
God in His wisdom her young life closes;
Over her grave may the turf be light,
Cover her coffin with roses white --
She was always fond of the big white roses.

. . . . .

Such are the visions that fade away --
Man proposes and God disposes;
Look in the glass and I see to-day
Only an old man, worn and grey,
Bending his head to a bunch of roses.




Black Swans