The Scent of the Roses
Let Fate do her worst; there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care;
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled;
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled-
You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will;
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
-Thomas Moore