Song
O CRIMSON rose, O crimson rose,
Crushed lightly in two little hands;
A child’s soft kiss was in your heart,
A child’s warm breath was in your soul.
The child is gone, O crimson rose,
And stained and hardened are the hands,
And who shall find your golden heart
And who shall kiss your withered soul?
Happy are you, O crimson rose,
But I have stains upon my hands;
You died with kisses in your heart,
I live with sorrow in my soul.
Eight Harvard Poets, 1917
