All her hours were yellow sands,
Blown in foolish whorls and tassels;
Slipping warmly through her hands;
Patted into little castles.

Shiny day on shiny day
Tumble in a rainbow clutter,
As she flipped them all away,
Sent them spinning down the gutter.

Leave for her a red young rose,
Go your way, and save your pity;
She is happy, for she knows
That her dust is very pretty.

---

Legt aufs Grab die rote Rose,
Geht nur, euer Mitleid spart;
glücklich weiß die Sorgenlose:
Selbst ihr Staub ist sehr apart.