Forgive it! Spare the flower! alas!”
And knelt and pick’d it from the grass.
“What, did she love thee ever?
If so the blow she gave to thee
Has made thee doubly dear to me.
Ah, Flower, in sunny weather,
And not in March, nay, nay, in June
Thy leaves in opening brought this boon;
Nor so shall close! There waits for thee
One mission more, thy best, I see!”