I picked you yesterday, my rose, when your buds had scarcely opened; and I set you in the left buttonhole of my jacket—here... over my heart!

I did it without thinking, though I am not accustomed to adorning my breast with anything; not out of disdain, but because I am not at home with these false appearances, and I do not love ornament and affectation!

I had grown used to picking a flower and letting my hands toy with it; soon its petals would scatter... and its stem remain in my hand, and I would cast it to the ground without notice or care!...

But you, my rose, caught my eye among all the roses!...

I saw you a beautiful bride, rising above them, while they stood ranged around you in awe and reverence, as though celebrating your wedding to the light of the sun, whose first threads drew near you with the

early morning... So I came, I, ahead of the sunlight, and snatched you from their midst!...

The first thing I did was to bring you close to my nose; and behold, your fragrance refreshed my heart, spread happiness through my soul, and awak-ened in it the hope of spring, so that its youth joined with his... It was as if you, with your perfumed scent and your bright color brimming with life, were a messenger from spring to my soul, carrying to it a message filled with love and beauty!...

I took care that no hand should touch you with harm, and that no intruder should snatch you from your place... So you remained, the whole day long, where I had put you: close to my heart, supplying it with vigor... and close to my nose, sending it your sweet fragrance...

But the heat did its work upon you! Evening had

scarcely come when all your petals had opened, and you appeared at the utmost that a rose can be of beauty and allure...

And when I entered my room, a little before midnight, tired, I did not leave you behind when I took off my jacket and sat down at my table... I carried you in my hand, breathing in your fragrance and feasting my eyes on the sight of you...

And when drowsiness overcame my eyelids and I rose to go to my bed, you fell from my hand, onto the table, away from me...

I did not see you again until the evening of the next day, when I sat at my table a second time... I did not notice your presence at first! But you sent your fragrance faintly to my nose, dispatching it as a reproach for my forgetting you; so I took notice and stretched out my hand to take you—and behold, it froze before it reached you! As if something were turning it back from you!... For you were no longer,

as yesterday, young, radiant, sweet-scented... Your petals had withered, and your color had faded... Yet I refused to be undutiful; I took you and pressed you with both my hands to my face, savoring what remained of your fragrance... And a hot tear fell from my eye upon you.

You were my friend for one day of my life... but that day was the whole of your life, and you gave it to me with all the beauty and love the Creator placed in it...

Your life, my rose, is hours; and our life, we human beings, is years. And yet the resemblance between our life and yours is strong for all that... For what matters is what one gives in one's life, and what this existence gains from him... And the end is one: withering...

So it is, my rose...