I Took The Love You Gave, Ah, Carelessly, Counting It Only As A Rose To Wear A Little Moment On My Heart No More, So Many Roses Had I Worn Before, So Lightly That I Scarce Believed Them There. But, Lo! This Rose Between The Dusk And Dawn Hath Turned To Very Flame Upon My Breast, A Flame That Burns The Day-Long And The Night, A Flame Of Very Anguish And Delight That Not For Any Moment Yields Me Rest. And I Am Troubled With A Strange, New Fear, How Would It Be If Even To Your Door I Came To Cry Your Pitying One Day, And You Should Lightly Laugh And Lightly Say, "That Was A Rose I Gave You--Nothing More."