A Bunch of Roses
Roses ruddy and roses white,What are the joys that my heart discloses?Sitting alone in the fading lightMemories come to me here to-nightWith the wonderful scent of the big red roses.
Memories come as the daylight fadesDown on the hearth where the firelight dozes;Flicker and flutter the lights and shades,And I see the face of a queen of maidsWhose 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 earthWith 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.
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Such are the visions that fade away—Man proposes and God disposes;Look in the glass and I see to-dayOnly an old man, worn and grey,Bending his head to a bunch of roses.