La Rose du Bal.

This poor flower of the rose ;1
All its pride, its fashion, spent ;2
Shrivelled up ; bereft of scent ;3
Once such sweetness ; could unclose !4
This sad blossom, that hath lain,5
For an hour or so of grace,6
Twixt her bosom and her face !7
Dare we treat it with disdain ?8
Dainty was its shell-like hue,9
As her shell-like ears, I vow.10
Dainty texture, tincture, now11
Vainly for your grace we sue !12
Think of all, that Nature wrought,13
Studious of this pretty flower ;14
Prodigal of sun and shower ;15
Careless, though its end be naught :16
Careful only it should grow17
Into worthiness to deck,18
Fair itself, a fairer neck ;19
Flourish there an hour, and go.20
Dropped amid the dancing feet !21
Saved to turn a verse like this !22
Lay it gently, with a kiss,23
’Mid the fire’s absorbing heat :24
Into elemental dust25
Watch it purely burn away.26
Julia, when we’ve had our day,27
Chastely so we’ll pass, I trust !28