She often may have plucked and twined,
Half-smiling as it came to mind
That few would look at them.
Oh, little thought that lady proud,
A child would watch her fair white rose,
When buried lay her whiter brows,
And silk was changed for shroud!—
Nor thought that gardener (full of scorns
For men unlearned and simple phrase),
A child would bring it all its praise