When 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 the changing 
The unchangeable. 

Oh, thus thy beauty, 
Loveliest on earth to me, 
Dark with no sorrow, shines 
And burns, with thee.