Roses and Caterpillars

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.

William Browne