Old Roses...

There are books and there are roses - - - & there is love,
but love is no longer the greatest of these.
It will help a man forget the pangs of a lost religion but then in its turn it too is forgotten.
Roses and books are better.
Roses die and come again & their death smells as sweet as their life.
Books are always under our hand & can be opened & closed & thrown aside at will.
They are bound but we are free - - - a tolerable conceit.
There are books & there are roses - - -
HTM