A wealth of stars in Winter time Brings frost severe and cold; And Winter's coppers are no more Than Autumn's wasted gold: While Love herself, this very morning, Scorned me without one word of warning. Had I not seen a Bumble-bee Stand on his head in clover; Parting the folds with hairy legs, For comfort under cover; Had I not seen this Bee and wondered — Could I have left Love's scorn unpondered? |