Walter de la Mare




When the Rose is Faded

When the rose is faded, 
   Memory may still dwell on 
Her beauty shadowed, 
   And the sweet smell gone.
 
That vanishing loveliness, 
   That burdening breath, 
No bond of life hath then, 
   Nor grief of death.
 
'Tis the immortal thought 
   Whose passion still 
Makes of the changing 
   The unchangeable.
 
Oh, thus thy beauty, 
   Loveliest on earth to me, 
Dark with no sorrow, shines 
   And burns, with Thee.


spoken = Shelley Johnson