Sweet lady, let your lids unclose-

Those lids by maiden dreams caressed;

I am the phantom of the rose

You wore last night upon your breast.

Like pearls upon my petals lay

The weeping fountain’s silver tears,

Ere in the glittering array

You bore me proudly ‘mid your peers.


O lady, ’twas for you I died-

Yet have I come and will stay;

My rosy phantom by your side

Well linger till the break of day.

Yet fear not, lady, naught claim I-

Nor mass, not hymn, or funeral prayer,

My soul is but a perfumed sigh,

Which pure from paradise I bear


My death is as my life was-sweet;

Who would not die as I have done?

A fate like mine who would not meet,

Your bosom fair to lie upon?

A poet on my sentient tomb

Engraved this legend with a kiss:

‘Here lies a rose of fairest bloom;

E’en kings are jealous of its bliss