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 I stay;
My rosy phantom by your side
Will linger till the break of day.
Yet fear not, lady; naught claim I--
Nor mass, nor 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.
