Dead Roses

He placed a rose in my nut-brown hair-- A deep red rose with a fragrant heart And said: 'We'll set this day apart, So sunny, so wondrous fair.' His face was full of a happy light, His voice was tender and low and sweet, The daisies and the violets grew at our feet-- Alas, for the coming of night! The rose is black and withered and dead! 'Tis hid in a tiny box away; The nut-brown hair is turning to gray, And the light of the day is fled! The light of the beautiful day is fled, Hush'd is the voice so sweet and low-- And I--ah, me! I loved him so-- And the daisies grow over his head!