Allegory, An
The great Rose yielded to the Bee
Who filched her sweets away;
The Beetle, more sincere than he,
She bade a sharp good-day.
The Bee, though all she had he stole,
Had manners so discreet!
The Beetle loved with all his soul—
But rumpled with his feet!
The Bee went sauntering on again;
The Beetle died of grief:
There's no sweet in the Rose—but then,
There's not a rumpled leaf!
Who filched her sweets away;
The Beetle, more sincere than he,
She bade a sharp good-day.
The Bee, though all she had he stole,
Had manners so discreet!
The Beetle loved with all his soul—
But rumpled with his feet!
The Bee went sauntering on again;
The Beetle died of grief:
There's no sweet in the Rose—but then,
There's not a rumpled leaf!
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