You tossed your colour proudly brave winter rose. No early dews to bathe thee nor sunset glows; but winter’s winds to flay thee and creeping frost to fray thee, Alas! Your petals soon tattered were earth blown to repose. We’ll share the same sad fate – then earth we’ll seek. But oh! May I as you did if only for one short week – let foul sickness do its’ worst to fight is not to be accursed – raise my colours against the sky and scorn to be meek.