And dumbly quit me of my pain
By posy symbolism!
‘For hope, a white rose; for despair,
A red, pluck to thy bosom!’—
He turned; then looked—the wilful fair
Had donned a crimson blossom.
But, so it chanced, within the cup
A cupid, honey-tipsy,
In rage at being woken up,
Thrust out and stung the gipsy.