Rose Bowl Treasure Chest of
As one sees on the branch in the month of May the rose
In her beautiful youth, in the dawn of her flower,
When the break of day softens her life with the shower,
Make jealous the sky of the damask bloom she shows:
Grace lingers in her leaf and love sleeping glows
But, broken by the rain or the sun's oppressive power,
Languishing she dies, and all her petals throws,
Thus in thy first youth, in thy awakening fair
When thy beauty was honnored by lips of Earth and Air,
Atropos has killed thee and dust thy form reposes.
O take, take for obsequies my tears, these poor showers,
this vase filled with milk, this basket strewn with flowers,
That in death as in life thy body may be roses.