KEEP and hold in a crimson fold, 



Rose, thy passionate sweetness ; 

 Let the brown bee dip, and the butterfly sip, 

 But keep it safe from the sun's hot lip 



And dark Death's fiery fleetness. 

 Yet come he will, and come he may, 

 For if we thought that no decay 



Would follow thy completeness, 

 Should we love thee, Rose -ah, who can say? - 

 Should we love thee then as we do to-day, 



With thy perishing passionate sweetness ? 



