BURNT are the petals of life as a rose fallen and crumbled to dust.
Blackened the heart of the past is, ashes that must Forever be sifted, more precious than sunbeams that open the budding to-morrow.
Once was a passion completed,-too perfect, the Gods have not broken to borrow-Blackened the heart of the past is, ashes that must Forever be sifted. O, loving to-morrow The rose of the past is, Life-Eternity's dust.
