Classic Poem

You held a wild flower in your fingertips,
Idly you pressed it to indifferent lips,
Idly you tore its crimson leaves apart
Alas! it was my heart.

You held a wine-cup in your fingertips,
Lightly you raised it to indifferent lips,
Lightly you drank and flung away the bowl ...
Alas! it was my soul.