Frank Dempster Sherman


To A Rose

by Frank Dempster Sherman

Go, Rose, and in her golden hair
You shall forget the garden soon;
The sunshine is a captive there
And crowns her with a constant noon.

And when your spicy odor goes,
And fades the beauty of your bloom,
Think what a lovely hand, O Rose,
Shall place your body in the tomb!


Lyrics For A Lute
Copyright 1890
Boston and New York, Houghton, Mifflin, and Company