To the Ladies Des Baux

Ladies of Aries and of Les Baux, 
Where do your roses bloom to-day? 
Such roses as no gardens grow 
Since the world put off green for gray. 
Ah! gay Baussette and Etiennette, 
Have yours, too, fallen dim and dead, 
Or are they warm and fragrant yet, 
Your heavy roses, dusky-red? 

Where are the songs that Cabestan 
Made long ago to your gold hair, 
Your eyes' gray fire that shamed the dawn, 
Your mouth's red blossom, Berengere? 
And Chateau-Vert's forgot, Berard, 
The chatelaine's forgotten, too, — 
And Marie dwells where shadows are 
And keeps, may be, no thought of you. 

Passe-Rose has passed all roses by, 
Except Death's roses white of blee: 
And none of all her lovers sigh 
That France grows no such flower as she! 
So for a little time, farewell, 
You roses of a warmer day, 
Till I come also where you dwell, 
Where Love is blind and needs must stay.