I know why the red rose weeps,
Why she hides her tears in dew,
As the summer breezes sweep
From those seas of peaceful blue,
And then like our dreams,
She fades with the morning dew.
I know why the red rose weeps
Through the dreamy months of June
As the golden breezes sweep
Over pallid sea rocks, hewn
By Neptune’s tide
As he guards each sailor’s tomb.
And I know why the red rose weeps
While birds sing their matin lay,
And a gentle zephyr sweeps
Our cares somewhere far away,
Where grasshoppers leap
And the careless children play.
I know why the red rose weeps
During dreary September,
As autumnal breezes keep
Music that is more sober,
And the pine sap seeps
Into lonesome October.
I know why the red rose weeps
Through the month of January
As the winter-time wind creeps
Through her sweet sanctuary,
And the summer’s cradle
Becomes her cemetery.
For when the rose parts with its petals
The scent of its dying breath
On fleeting breezes settles;
Seeing her beauty bereft,
Winds mixed with ocean brine,
Life becomes sweeter with death.
I know why the red rose weeps
When her buds have yet to see the day,
When beauty still softly sleeps
Through the blooming month of May,
And morning still frost keeps
Our own wildest dreams at bay.
As when one can almost hear
The sun rays brightly dancing
Over rolling fields of green,
With each new frond spreading
As winds softly pass
And the soaring skylarks sing,
So I know why the red rose weeps,
Why she hides her tears in dew,
As the golden breezes sweep
From those seas of peaceful blue,
And then like our dreams,
She fades with the morning dew.
David is a poet, writer, and translator based in Montreal. He is the founder of The Chained Muse and New Lyre. His first collection of poems is entitled Modern Dreams.