270 THE CAPTIVE AND THE FLOWERS. 
And bears thy bosom faithfully, 
And art thou true, and pure as I, 
Thou’lt prize the lily more. 
CAPTIVE. 
I call myself both chaste and pure. 
And pure from passions low; 
And yet these walls my limbs immure 
In loneliness and woe. 
Though thou dost seem, in white array’d. 
Like many a pure and beauteous maid, 
One dearer thing I know. 
PINK. 
And dearer I, the pink, must be, 
And me thou sure dost choose 
O else the gard’ner ne’er for me 
Such watchful care would use ; 
A crowd of leaves enriching bloom! 
And mine through life the sweet perfume, 
And all the thousand hues. 
