Where All Roses Go

He shall not hear the bittern cry
 In the wild sky, where he is lain
 Nor voices of the sweeter birds
 Above the wailing of the rain
 Nor shall he know when loud March blows
 Thro' slanting snows his fanfare shrill
 Blowing to flame the golden cup
 Of many's the upset daffodil
 Soon the swallows will be flying south
 The winds wheel north to gather in the snow
 Even the roses split on youth's red mouth
 Will soon blow down the road all roses go
 But when the dark cow leaves the moor
 And pastures poor with greedy weeds
 Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn
 Lifting her horn in pleasant meads
 Soon the swallows will be flying south
 The winds wheel north to gather in the snow
 Even the roses split on youth's red mouth
 Will soon blow down the road all roses go
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