But drought unslaked had her life-spring dried;
So, fading and faded, she drooped and died.
I saw too now, with awakening eyes,
How near I had been to my longed-for prize;
One half of the care I had spent in vain—
Care that had brought me but grief and pain—
If spent on the rose that had pined away,
Would have reared a flower so chastely gay,
That the joy of its countless charms untold
My care had repaid a thousandfold.