Poetry Archives

One night a tiny dewdrop fell
  Into the bosom of a rose,—
“Dear little one, I love thee well,
  Be ever here thy sweet repose!”

Seeing the rose with love bedight,
  The envious sky frowned dark, and then
Sent forth a messenger of light
  And caught the dewdrop up again.

“Oh, give me back my heavenly child,—
  My love!” the rose in anguish cried;
Alas! the sky triumphant smiled,
  And so the flower, heart-broken, died.