DOWN in a garden olden, -- Just where, I do not know, -- A buttercup all golden Chanced near a rose to grow; And every morning early, Before the birds were up, A tiny dewdrop pearly Fell in this little cup. This was the drink of water The rose had every day; But no one yet has caught her While drinking in this way. Surely, it is no treason To say she drinks so yet, For that may be the reason Her lips with dew are wet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A WOMAN'S QUESTION by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER THE SUMMER IS ENDED (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: CHRIST'S REPLY by EDWARD TAYLOR IN NOVEMBER by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH THE LOVE THAT PURIFIED by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |