Any sentient being knows br The birth and rebirth of a rose – br Or, really, any other flower; br All unfold in a seeming hour, br Then wither! And as the petals fall, br Killing what is dearest of all br (In flowers) – I remember then br In an hour, it will bloom again. br br No, I mourn not for a rose, br But for they – lacking the repose br Of knowing of a safer soul – br Who let their minds’ tenets lull, br Or never treasured any at all! br I envy not what miseries befall br When fools take sloth for firm control, br For what is lost is lost in whole.