Women And Roses

I.I dream of a red-rose tree.And which of its roses threeIs the dearest rose to me?II.Round and round, like a dance of snowIn a dazzling drift, as its guardians, goFloating the women faded for ages,Sculptured in stone, on the poet's pages.Then follow women fresh and gay,Living and loving and loved to-day.Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens,Beauties yet unborn. And all, to one cadence

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