Classic Poem

O thou rose — thou rose so lovely,
Why so early didst thou blow?
Why when blown, so swiftly blighted,
Swiftly blighted — swiftly faded,
Faded — dying — perish'd too:
Long I sat — I sat at evening
Till I heard the cock's loud crow,
Slumber's weariness o'ercame me
As the splinters wasted low;
And I dreamt: — I dreamt I saw
One who brought to me — poor maiden!
One who with his right hand brought
Golden ring to grace my finger,
Ring with precious gems enwrought —
Where are now those gems? — I know not —
And that youth — I vainly sought.