O Rose thou art sick.The invisible worm,That flies in the nightIn the howling storm:
Has found out thy bedOf crimson joy:And his dark secret loveDoes thy life destroy.
Poem A01 · FROM THE ARCHIVE · 1794 · READ 00:40
The Sick Rose
Don't stop here
O Rose thou art sick.The invisible worm,That flies in the nightIn the howling storm:
Has found out thy bedOf crimson joy:And his dark secret loveDoes thy life destroy.
Don't stop here