By Raymond Garfield Dandridge
I plucked a rose, a red rose rare,
I placed her on a throne
Within my heart; and there I dare
To worship her alone.
An idol, thus, I paid to her
My constant vigil, love, and care.
Upon my knees, I prayed to her,
My whole heart in my prayer.
Alas! my love, my care, my prayer,
Failed! failed to keep my treasure fair.
I saw (my heart filled with despair)
Her drooping head;
Her beauty, grace and fragrance flown,
Her every leaf and petal shorn,
I gazed in silence—and alone—
Upon my dead.