Now the autumn shudders

In the rose’s root.

Far and wide the ladders

Lean among the fruit.

Now the autumn clambers

Up the trellised frame,

And the rose remembers

The dust from which it came.

Brighter than the blossom

On the rose’s bough

Sits the wizened, orange,

Bitter berry now;

Beauty never slumbers;

All is in her name;

But the rose remembers