A red rose burns upon his breast
Where erst a white rose lay;
Above his fervent heart-throb pressed —
The red rose of To-day.
What recks he of the flower that dies —
( For roses bloom alway! )
Low in the dust, forgotten, lies
The rose of Yesterday.
But yet, To-day's red rose must die,
( For roses fade alway! )
To-morrow crushed, forgot,‘ twill lie —
A rose of Yesterday.