Where All Roses Go

He shall not hear the bittern cry
In the wide sky where he is laid
Nor voices of the sweet birds
Above the wailing of the lade
Nor shall he know when loud March blows
Close slummed in snows her fair fair sheen
Blowing to flame the golden cup
Of many an absinthe's daffodil

Soon the swallows will be flying south
The wind will blow together in the snow
Even the roses split on youth's red mouth
Will soon blow down the road, all roses
Soon blow down the road

But when the dark car leaves the moor
And pastures grow with greedy weeds
Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn
Lifting her horn in pleasant peace

Soon the swallows will be flying south
The wind will blow together in the snow
Even the roses split on youth's red mouth
Will soon blow down the road, all roses
Soon blow down the road