Page:Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan.djvu/164

128 She past us,—then she came again, Observing at a glance That we were strangers; one, in pain, — Then asked,—Were we from France? We talked awhile,—some roses red That seemed as wet with tears, She gave my sister, and she said, "God bless you both, my dears!"

Sweet were the roses,—sweet and full, And large as lotus flowers That in our own wide tanks we cull To deck our Indian bowers. But sweeter was the love that gave Those flowers to one unknown, I think that He who came to save The gift a debt will own.

The lady's name I do not know, Her face no more may see, But yet, oh yet I love her so! Blest, happy, may she be! Her memory will not depart, Though grief my years should shade, Still bloom her roses in my heart! And they shall never fade!