A Lament.
I had a flower, a simple
flower,1
In which my eye and heart delighted ;2
I took it from its woodland bower,3
Lest by rude blasts it should be blighted.4
I nursed my flower, my favourite flower,5
With all-a parent’s warm affection ;6
I shelter’d it from storm and shower ;7
It paid me for my fond protection.8
My charming flower, my beauteous flower !9
Its face with heaven’s own tints was beaming ;10
Round it a flood of fragrant power,11
Like balm of Araby, was streaming.12
I left my flower, my dear-prized flower,13
To one who knew the love I bore it,14
With charge to screen, if harm should lower—15
Blind trust ! what can I but deplore it !16
Alas, my flower !— my rifled-flower !17
The treacherous spoiler cropt its blossom,18
To wear it just for one short hour19
In triumph at his heartless bosom.20