Adieu
My rose unfurled, withered in my eyes,
And thorns endured where dainty petals aught;
On scented breath exhaled beguiling lies,
And morning weeps, unblushed, for love is naught.
Farewell to lusty shadows creaking bed,
And crackling hearth before which lovers laid,
And belvedere where innocence was bled,
While moonlight specters pranced in flowered glade.
Adieu my rose, forgive my early spring;
Between my youthful urges lay thee pressed,
And not a single sympathetic string;
Do angels chord within my sorrowed breast.
My garden dampens neath a summer’s rain,
Yet never will I bloom a rose again.
Copyright © Claire De La Grange | Year Posted 2008
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