That won from her parent stem to part,
She might rest awhile on my loving heart.
But flown was the lure of her witching spell,
As fluttering to earth her petals fell;
Her heart was rotten and dead at the core—
And I knew that my foolish dream was o’er.
I saw how poor was the full-blown blaze
That had charmed my senses and won my praise;
And I thought at last of the timid flower
Which had pined unheeded for cooling shower,