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! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOREFATHERS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE PAINS OF SLEEP by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE LOCHABER NO MORE by ALLAN RAMSAY LETTY'S GLOBE by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER RIDE NOT TOO FAST WITH BEAUTY by ELSIE TWINING ABBOTT |