Light hair, and cheeks as red as cherries;
And through the briers, with much ado,
She wrought her way to pick the berries.
Quoth I, “My little girl, it seems
To me, you buy your berries dear;
For down your hand the red blood streams,
And down your cheek there rolls a tear.”
“O, yes,” said she, “but then, you know,
There will be briers where berries grow.”
These words came home with keen rebuke