A red rose shining in the sun

Told me of summer new-begun.

I smoothed each petal, and kissed each petal,

And counted them one by one.

Eighteen—and I had two years more.

‘Match me, O rose!’ I said; and tore

In half two petals, two crimson petals,

To bring them to a score.

Just at that moment the wind blew—

Petal by petal away I threw,

And turned to the rose-bush, the lovely rose-bush,

Where other roses grew.