I.
Hast thou not seen, officious with delight,
Move through the illumined air about the flower
The Bee, that fears to drink its purple light,
Lest danger lurk within that Rose's bower?
Hast thou not marked the moth's enamoured flight
About the Taper's flame at evening hour;
Till kindle in that monumental fire
His sunflower wings their own funereal pyre?
II.
My heart, its wishes trembling to unfold.
Thus round the Rose and Taper hovering came,
'And Passions slave, Distrust, in ashes cold.
Smothered awhile, but could not quench the flame,'--
Till Love, that grows by disappointment bold,
And Opportunity, had conquered Shame;
And like the Bee and Moth, in act to close,
'I burned my wings, and settled on the Rose.'
