  Roses, roses at her door, Roses bringing something more Than one Summer to her door,— Beauty, beauty evermore. Roses that were Guinivere In a far-off golden year, Hair that blinded like the sun, Hands that never would have done With the white spells that they wrought, Till a city came to naught,— Hands and hair and hearts, at last, Dust! Till now, their slumbers past, Roses bloom about her door, Beauty, beauty evermore.... Trojan maidens who had been Still, white faces through the din Of those chariots gone by, Stars above a troubled sky— Beauty passing to re-pass, Pearl-white feet across the grass, Crowns of beauty that they wore Given to the dust for more All old tales of beauty dead, Hands and hair and lifted head, Gone from cities long forgot: Rimini and Camelot, Lovers who had been like light, Summertime and dream ... and Night ... Now, their night of sleeping gone, Roses rise above the lawn. Roses, roses at her door, Roses bringing something more Than one Summer to her door ... Beauty, beauty evermore. |
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