Only Roses
TO a garden full of posiesCometh one to gather flowers;And he wanders through its bowersToying with the wanton roses,Who, uprising from their beds,Hold on high their shameless headsWith their pretty lips a-pouting,Never doubting—never doubtingThat for Cytherean posiesHe would gather aught but roses.
In a nest of weeds and nettles,Lay a violet, half hidden;Hoping that his glance unbiddenYet might fall upon her petals.Though she lived alone, apart,Hope lay nestling at her heart,But, alas! the cruel awakingSet her little heart a-breaking,For he gathered for his posiesOnly roses—only roses!