The Lyric Rose.
R
Robert Crawford
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What other work in the world have I
Than but to sing my song, and die?
No other work of hate or love
For hell below or heaven above!
As if it were the one thing true
For me, whatever others do,
My days and nights to this tune set
As Romeo to Juliet,
I put all else within time by;
For this do live — for this would die,
If that but haply on my tomb
A lyric rose should bud and bloom,
The which some passer-by might swear
Was precious in its beauty there,
And, kneeling, might a petal take
And love it for the Singer's sake!
A Girl's Desire.
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