53 
“ I love thee not, thou simple flower, 
For thou art gay and I am lone : 
Thy beauty died with childhood’s hour — 
The heartsease from my path has gone.” 
This morn a fairy bower I pass’d, 
Where, shelter’d from the northern blast, 
Grew many a garden gem; 
More lovely sure not Eden graced, 
Ere yet the primal curse had traced 
Ruin and blight on all, and placed 
Thorns on the rose’s stem. 
But nearer viewed, methought the bloom, 
Ev’n of this group, partook the doom 
Which all things earthly share; 
In one, the gayest of the gay, 
A hidden worm insidious lay, 
Whilst others, borne far, far away, 
Pined for their native air. 
Onward I sped in musing mood, 
Till, near my path, now wild and rude, 
A flow’ret met my view; 
e 3 
