She pluck'd a wild wood-rose, and fondly strove, With pausing step and ever-anxious care, To carry home her dainty treasure-trove, A butterfly, perch'd on those petals fair; Soon the gay creature flutter'd off again; And then her girlish fingers dropp'd the flower: Ah! little maid, when Love asserts his power, This lesson, duly learnt, may save thee pain: Why from the forest-rose thine hand unclasp, Because the fickle insect would not stay? Not all the tendance of thy sweet blue eye, And tiptoe heed, secured the butterfly; The flower, that needed but thy gentle grasp To hold it, thou hast lightly thrown away! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PET NAME by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A MEDITATION ON RHODE ISLAND COAL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT MOTLEY: THE GHOST by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING by ROBERT HERRICK THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 23 by OMAR KHAYYAM GOOD-NIGHT by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE RHYME OF SIR LAUNCELOT BOGLE; A LEGEND OF GLASGOW by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |