  A dewdrop came, with a spark of flame He had caught from the sun’s last ray, To a violet’s breast, where he lay at rest Till the hours brought back the day. The rose looked down, with a blush and frown; But she smiled all at once, to view Her own bright form, with its coloring warm, Reflected back by the dew. Then the stranger took a stolen look At the sky, so soft and blue; And a leaflet green with its silver sheen, Was seen by the idler too. A cold north wind, as he thus reclined, Of a sudden raged around; And a maiden fair, who was walking there, Next morning, an opal found. |
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