Stranger, these little flowers are sweet If you will leave them at your feet, Enjoying like yourself the breeze, And kist by butterflies and bees; But if you snap the fragile stem The vilest thyme outvalues them. Nor place nor flower would I select To make you serious and reflect. This heaviness was always shed Upon the drooping rose's head. Yet now perhaps your mind surveys Some village maid, in earlier days, Of charms thus lost, of life thus set, Ah bruise not then my Mignionette! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WASHING-DAY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD PINE-TREES AND THE SKY: EVENING by RUPERT BROOKE ONE WORD MORE by ROBERT BROWNING TAM O' SHANTER by ROBERT BURNS THE ANGEL'S SONG; CAROL by EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS |