She said to him, 'Unless, when I am dead
From out the green sod of my lowly grave
A crimson rose should rise and softly wave,
Whispering words like those my poor heart said;
Unless this token of a passion fled
Should come to tell you all that you may crave,
Then you shall know I loved you not! Be brave!
That rose shall bloom, and you be comforted.'
But when she died, not only in the Spring,
When violets wake, and in the deeps of June,
Her lover saw a red rose lightly blow;
Not only did the golden Summer bring
Gifts for his heart, but 'neath the Winter moon
A passion-flower trembled thro' the snow!