Only page of title Difficult
279
8
To the roses of your lips,
And fling down to me a bud --
But an unblown kiss -- but one --
It shall blossom in my blood,
Even after life is done --
When I dare to touch the brow
Your rare hair is veiling now --
When the rich, red-golden strands
Of the treasure in my hands
Shall be all of worldly worth
Heaven lifted from the earth,
Like a banner to have set
On its highest minaret.
End of title