The Tomb said to the Rose :
O Flower of Love, where goes
Each tear which Dawn upon thy cheeks doth
The Rose said to the Tomb :
What makest in thy gloom
Impenetrable of the countless dead?
Said the Rose : O Tomb, of all these tears,
In my recesses ere the sun appears,
I make a perfume which the gods will prize.
Said the Tomb : O plaintive Flower,
Of every mortal I devour
An angel do I make for Paradise.
From Myrtle and Myrrh (The Gorham Press, 1905) by Ameen Rihani. This poem is in the public domain.