The Sick Rose
O rose thou art sick,
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy :
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
O rose thou art sick,
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy :
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.