The fragrance of the roses
Borne on morning's mist
Reveal a page of memory
Of lips which I have kissed.

	The sweetest lips in all the land--
	At least they are to me--
	And, since we met among the roses,
	Thus moves that page of memory.

The fragrance of the roses
Borne on the evening's dew
Can bring no other memory
Than that I have of you.

	The roses, ever beautiful,
	Paled beside your lovely face.
	Though time has sifted, as the sand,
	That memory's page, it can't erase.