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THERESE.

A rose once pressed against thy lips,
 Then gayly flung to me,
Is all the gift I treasure up
 In memory of thee;
It bringeth back that golden time,
 Too beautiful to last,
The glad and love-lit past, Therese,
 The glad and love-lit past!

Then comes the memory of the change
 Which fell upon thy heart,
As falls the frost upon the rose
 When summer suns depart;
And now returns that weary time
 With doubts and glooms o'ercast,
The sad and mournful past, Therese,
 The sad and mournful past!