The Unfortunate Damsel

BY MRS. FLEETWOOD HABERGHAM

I sowed the seeds of love
To blossom all the spring,
In April, May, or else in June,
When the small birds do sing:
A gardener standing by,
I desired him to choose for me;
He picked out the lily, the violet, and pink,
But I refused all three.
The lily I refused,
Because it faded so soon;
The violet and pink I overlooked,
Resolved was to tarry till June:
In June the red roses bud,
Oh, that is a lover for me;
But I have often aimed at the red rose-bud,
And I have gained the willow tree.
The gardener standing by,
He prayed me to have a care,
For the thorn that grew on the red rose-bush,
A venomous thorn they were:
A venomous thorn indeed,
For still I feel the smart;
And every time I did it touch,
It pricked my tender heart.
Away you fading flowers,
No more I will you touch,
That all the world may plainly see
I loved one flower too much.