A sentimental lady sate
Lamenting thus a rose’s fate,
As thirty of them, nay threescore,
Bard-bitten all, have done before.
“My sweet and lovely one! ah why
Must you so soon decay and die?”
“I know not,” with soft accents said,
And balmy breath the Rose, “kind maid!
I only know they call me fair,
And fragrant in this summer air.
If youths should push their faces down
On mine, I smile, but never frown,
And never (‘twere affected) say
So much as ‘wanton! go away’
I would not wish to stop behind
And perish in the wint’ry wind.
I have had sisters; all are gone
Before me, and without a moan.
Be thou as sweet and calm as they,
And never mind the future day.”