Rose, on this terrace fifty years ago,
When I was in my June, you in your May,
Two words, ‘My Rose,’ set all your face aglow,
And now that I am white and you are gray,
That blush of fifty years ago, my dear,
Blooms in the past, but close to me to-day,
As this red rose, which on our terrace here
Glows in the blue of fifty miles away.