The Year Of The Rose [from dream to dream]

The time of lovers is brief;

From the fair first joy to the grief

That tells when love is grown old,

From the warm wild kiss to the cold,

From the red to the white-rose leaf,

They have but a season to seem

As rose-leaves lost on a stream

That part not and pass not apart

As a spirit from dream to dream,

As a sorrow from heart to heart.

- The Year of the Rose, C. Swinburne

Done