Withered Leaves

I.
Let the roses lie, dear,
Let them lie ;
They are all thrown by, dear.
All thrown by :
What should they do now but quickly die ?

II.
Yester morn they flourished
Fresh and fair ;
Dew and sunlight nourished,
Bloomed they there.
Blushing as their sweetness felt the air.

III.
Yester eve he tore them
From the tree ;
Stars that ghmmered o'er them.
Two or three,
Set not ere they perished, woe is me !

IV.
Scarcely seem they dead yet —
Death is new ;
See the petals red yet,
Scent and dew,
All as when in life they blushing grew.

V.
Touch them yet I dare not
While they show
As if dead they were not ;
Ah ! I know
Dreams of life in death but madden woe.

VI.
Let them lie and wither,
As is right ;
I may then steal hither
In the night ;
Find them wan and shrivelled in death's blight ;

VII.
Gather each leaf slowly
From its nook ;
Hoard them up as holy
In the Book
Wherein Memory now for Hope must look.