But oh! his feelings who can name,
As mute he stood and eyed it?
For not a flower could he behold,
While each corolla, inward rolled,
Appeared as shrivelled, dead, and old
As if a fire had dried it.
"Alas!" the selfish owner said,
"My Glories----oh! they all are dead!
And all my little friends have fled
Aggrieved! for I've abused them.