From the generations of roses

That are lost in the depths of time

I want one saved from oblivion,

One spotless rose, of all things

That ever were. Fate permits me

The gift of choosing for once

That silent flower, the last rose

That Milton held before him,

Unseen. O vermilion, or yellow

Or white rose of a ruined garden,

Your past still magically remains

Forever shines in these verses,

Gold, blood, ivory or shadow

As if in his hands, invisible rose.

Jorge Luis Borges