Red rose, thine petals are enflamed,
Calling forth thine lover’s name,
Groaning out through winter’s vein;
Old rose, thine spirit hath been claimed.
Thy stem is steeped in cold frost’s bite,
Thy leaf is burned from rime’s harsh rite,
Thorn and root be seared from ice;
Cold rose, thine spirit hath been claimed.
Weak thine is; still thou doth fight,
Eager for beauty but swift bedight
Comes for thou, with bitter kiss;
Rose, thine spirit belong to this:
Faint rose, thine time hath arrived,
Night moves in, and brings the knife;
Last breath thine gives in the life
—Dark is death, dear rose,
Thine heart hath been claimed.