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A tear alas! I cannot shed,
Though for this, for this have I wept:
Among the roses, Love seemed dead
In funerary garb, it seemed Love slept.
And thus, I grant my soul to thee,
For thy love yet heeded me.

Across the dark, I looked to him…
I asked of what star may shine,
How the light can seem so dim
Compared to the fires of thine.
And the rose, hearing thy name
Is but ashes to thy flame.

The moon, in the autumn hours
Graces not with song the skies,
But lays her dreams upon the flowers
That bloom in the heavens of thine eyes:
A bouquet I gather with every night-tide
To dream eternal with thee beside.

Alas this final tear must fall,
With the bridge between our souls,
For, as the night encumbers all,
The bell upon my slumber tolls:
Soon with Love entombed I shall lie
As the winds upon me sigh.

Soon, for now I hear the bell,
I shall sleep to sleep no more,
Without rest, my slumbers swell
And of the rose, I ask wherefore
Such a love as mine, enchanted
Had so wondrously been granted.

Hold me in thine endless sky,
Tell me what I shall dream
On this, the day I die
‘Neath thy flame’s so glorious gleam.
And my soul, forever with thee
Another rose shall be.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle