A DECEMBER ROSE
A ROSE is a rose all times of the year. I have one out in my garden there, In the deep grass out by the gray old stair — A breath of June in December drear.
Ah, but its red is a little sere, And nipped by the frost in last night's air! A rose is a rose all times of the year. I have one out in my garden there.
So, when Love comes, he is counted dear, With his reed at his lips, in June-tide fair, A-piping sweet, or with wind-blown hair, And tears in his eyes in December drear. A rose is a rose all times of the year.