Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/144

 HEN the rose is faded,
 * Memory may still dwell on

Her beauty shadowed,
 * And the sweet smell gone.

That vanishing loveliness,
 * That burdening breath

No bond of life hath then
 * Nor grief of death.

'Tis the immortal thought
 * Whose passion still

Makes of the changing
 * The unchangeable.

Oh, thus thy beauty,
 * Loveliest on earth to me,

Dark with no sorrow, shines
 * And burns, with Thee.