THIS morn for you I Roses bound,
So many that the ribbon wound
About them snapped, with all that bloom distent.

The ribbon snapped; away they flew;
The wind that bore them seaward blew, —
Adown the wind, to come no more, they went.

The wave, that took them, flushed like wine,
And still these lawny folds of mine
Retain to-night the memory and the scent.