Sentiment - UN

What have we in common

with the rose

which trembleth

when a drop of dew

has formed upon it?

Only for us remains the memory

Of sultry moons and summer rains;

And we have found, where petals lie

The flowers that bloom mournfully

And what of the moon

which beckons ebon tides

to stir stone hearts

in lonely waves of gray?

Do we not hide

from the wake of love

Do we not quake

from the pain of sentiment?

What have we in common

with the rose

which trembleth

when a drop of dew

has formed upon it?