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From the New York Tribune, October 27, 1914. By Giovanni.

A rose I brought from Fancy’s bowers;
    She waved my offering away,
And said, “The vows of youth are flowers,
    And wither like them in a day.”
Unheeded now her way she goes—
    My passion faded like the rose.

I trod the mountain-peak of years;
    Time’s snowflakes mingled with my hair;
My heart was free from hopes and fears—
    Then Fate unveiled a maiden fair.
I sought the flower that will not fade,
    And brought a blossom to the maid.

Its fadeless bloom no message told;
    Flung under foot the blossom lay.
She said, “It grows in Winter’s cold,
    And youth must have the buds of May.
Your flower and you are of the snows—
    Today my lover brought a rose!”

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