What the poor niggard earth has not to lend;
But when the stalk is snapt, the rose must bend. 15
The tallest flower that skyward rears its head,
Grows from the common ground, and there must shed
Its delicate petals. Cruel fate, too surely,
That they should find so base a bridal bed,
Who lived in virgin pride, so sweet and purely! 20
She had a brother, and a tender father;
And she was loved, but not as others are,
From whom we ask return of love,—but rather