The first rose on my rose-tree
Budded, bloomed, and shattered,
During sad days when to me
Nothing mattered.
Grief or grief has drained me clean;
Still it seems a pity
No one saw,—it must have been
Very pretty.
About author
- Author's profession: Author
- Nationality: american
- Born: February 22, 1892
- Died: October 19, 1950
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