Sweet flower, what cold, unfeeling hand

Hath plucked thee from that shady land

Where clear, cool waters lie,

And velvet mosses kissed thy feet?

Who took thee from thy loved retreat,

And left thee here to die?

Thou fairest gem of all the earth—

E'en bonnie wilds that gave thee birth

Thy petals' sweetness hold.

I drink thy breath in fragrant draught,

Sweeter than royal lips e'er quaffed

From cups of burnished gold.

Who took thee from thy crystal home,

Where finny tribes delight to roam

And frisk in morning play;

Where never harsher sound was heard

Than fall of leaf or trill of bird,

Or winds that softly sway

The trees that bend thy nook above,

And, bending, whispered low of love

To thee, my bonnie flower,

Or whir of swallows' silken flight

Across the waves, the calm delight

Of evening's dappling shower?

Although thou'rt crushed beneath my feet,

Thy dewy fragrance is more sweet

Than at thy frail life's dawn.

Thus, flow'r of love and purity,

This lesson I have learned of thee:

That when my friends are gone,

And fate's rude tread has crushed my heart,

Its blossoms shall more sweets impart

Than at its first love's dawn.