The Tomb said to the Rose: “From dew,—
The tears of Dawn that water you,—
What make you, Flower of lovers gay?”
The Rose said to the Tomb “Withal,
What do you with the lives that fall
Into your gulf that yawns for ayes”
“Dark Tomb!” the Rose said: “In my bower
A perfume of these tears I’ve made
Honey and amber, full of shade”
The Tomb responded: “Plaintive Flower!
Of every soul that hither flies
I make an Angel of the skies!”
