And I wrung from her petals the dewdrop of morning,
And gathered her gently and tended her well.
For the bee and the butterfly round her were humming,
To whisper their flattering love-tale, and fly;
And too surely I knew that the season was coming,
When the flower must fade and the insect must die.
So deep in the shade of my chamber I brought her,
And sheltered her safe from the wind and the sun,
And cared for her kindly and dipped her in water,
And vowed to preserve her when summer was done.