33
LINES ON A ROSEBUD,FOUND IN A GARDEN IN NOVEMBER.
Oh say, sweet Rosebud, why thou ling'rest here,
While all around thee wither'd leaves are lying?
Did Summer throw thee from his golden car,
Or Autumn woo thee while the god was flying?
While all around thee wither'd leaves are lying?
Did Summer throw thee from his golden car,
Or Autumn woo thee while the god was flying?
Poor little rose, th' inconstant autumn's gone,
And left thee here neglected and forlorn;
I'll take thee hence, eve vet the north winds come
To bind in icy chains thy lovely form.
And left thee here neglected and forlorn;
I'll take thee hence, eve vet the north winds come
To bind in icy chains thy lovely form.
