’MID the summer flush of roses

Sat a damsel fair, a very

Till a butterfly, so smart,

With a flutter and a dart,

Kissed her mouth and made her start

“Ah, forgive me!” begged the insect,

I assure you that I didn’t

I but took your rosebud lip

For the rose wherein I dip,

All its honey sweet to sip

Said the beauty, to the moth,

To excuse your forward conduct,

Wish it clearly understood

That such roses are too good

To be kissed by every rude