Bare; on the grim horizon blow
The weeping, wailing winds of woe.
The individual crying in the wilderness,
The frail voice of Winter's sorrow.
Gone, the sun! Gone, the light!
Gone, the breaking day!
An English rose bled in her bed and
Fell into an English grave.
Floyd Zimmerman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-grave-of-the-albion-rose/
