A ROSE once pressed against thy lips, <br />Then gayly flung to me, <br />Is all the gift I treasure up <br />In memory of thee; <br />It bringeth back that golden time, <br />Too beautiful to last, <br />The glad and love-lit past, Therese, <br />The glad and love-lit past! <br /> <br />Then comes the memory of the change <br />Which fell upon thy heart, <br />As falls the frost upon the rose <br />When summer suns depart; <br />And now returns that weary time <br />With doubts and glooms o'ercast, <br />The sad and mournful past, Therese, <br />The sad and mournful past! <br /> <br />Young flowers, fair, quickly fading flowers, <br />Love's meetest emblems they, <br />For naught in life so fitly marks <br />Its swift and sure decay; <br />O type of that frail, passing faith <br />So fondly set apart <br />To wither in its early dew, <br />And die upon my heart!<br /><br />Grace Greenwood<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/therese-2/
