31.12.2010, 12:32
THE BUTTERFLY AND THE ROSE.
She pluck'd a wild wood-rose, and fondly strove,
With pausing step and ever-anxious care,
To carry home her dainty treasure-trove,
A butterfly, perch'd on those petals fair ;
Soon the gay creature flutter'd off again ;
And then her girlish fingers dropp'd the flower :
Ah ! little maid, when Love asserts his power,
This lesson, duly learnt, may save thee pain ;
Why from the forest-rose thine hand unclasp,
Because the fickle insect would not stay ?
Not all the tendance of thy sweet blue eye.
And tiptoe heed, secured the butterfly ;
The flower, that needed but thy gentle grasp
To hold it, thou hast lightly thrown away !
She pluck'd a wild wood-rose, and fondly strove,
With pausing step and ever-anxious care,
To carry home her dainty treasure-trove,
A butterfly, perch'd on those petals fair ;
Soon the gay creature flutter'd off again ;
And then her girlish fingers dropp'd the flower :
Ah ! little maid, when Love asserts his power,
This lesson, duly learnt, may save thee pain ;
Why from the forest-rose thine hand unclasp,
Because the fickle insect would not stay ?
Not all the tendance of thy sweet blue eye.
And tiptoe heed, secured the butterfly ;
The flower, that needed but thy gentle grasp
To hold it, thou hast lightly thrown away !