Rose, On This Terrace Fifty Years Ago, When I Was In My June, You In Your May, Two Words, 'My Rose,' Set All Your Face Aglow, And Now That I Am White And You Are Gray, That Blush Of Fifty Years Ago, My Dear, Blooms In The Past, But Close To Me To-Day, As This Red Rose, Which On Our Terrace Here Glows In The Blue Of Fifty Miles Away.