I dreamed my kisses on your hair
Turned into roses. Circling bloom
Crowned the loose-lifted tresses there.
“O Love,” I cried, “forever
Dwell wreathed, and perfume-haunted
By my heart's deep honey-breath!”
But even as I bending looked, I saw
The roses were not; and, instead, there lay
Pale, feathered flakes and scentless
Ashes upon your hair!