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O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

Every Night and every Morning
Some to Misery are born.
Every Morning and every Night
Some are born to Endless Night.

Some are born to Endless Night,
Some are born to Sweet Delight.

Every Night and every Morning
Some to Misery are born.
Every Morning and every Night
Some are born to Endless Night.

Some are born to Endless Night,
Some are born to Sweet Delight.

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