A rose, as fair as ever saw the north,
Grew in a little garden all alone;
A sweeter flower did nature ne'er put forth,
Nor fairer garden yet was never known.
The maidens danced about it morn and noon,
And learned bards of it their ditties made;
The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moon
Watered the root and kissed her pretty shade.
But well-a-day!--the gardener careless grew;
The maids and fairies both were kept away,
And in a drought the caterpillars threw
Themselves upon the bud and every spray.
God shield the stock! If Heaven send no supplies,
The fairest blossom of the garden dies.