My garden has roses red,
My garden has roses white,
But if, when the day is sped,
I stand by the gate at night,
One fragrance comes when the day is sped
From my roses white and my roses red.

The roses of joy are red,
The roses of pain are white,
But I think, when the day is sped,
And I stand by the gate at night,
I shall just know this, when the day is dead,
That a rose is sweet, be it white or red.

—Percy Ainsworth