A sea of broom was on the brae,
A heaven of speedwell lit the way;
But ever as I passed along
Of roses only was my song -
Roses, roses, roses!

They spread their petals, pink and white
Full stretch to feast upon the light;
They pushed each other on the spray
Like children mad with holiday -
Roses, roses, roses!

But as when summer noon is high
A fearful cloud bedims the sky,
A sudden memory of pain
Arises from the bright refrain -
Roses, roses, roses!

I watch a figure to and fro
'Mong summer roses long ago,
Herself a rose as blythe as they -
Alas! how soon they pass away -
Roses, roses, roses!

By Walter Wingate