Now what ails our gentle friend?
In his eye a meaning double,
Sorrow and defiance blend —
Let us soothe him of his trouble.
Poet! do not pass us by:
See how we are robed to meet you;
Heed you not our perfumed sigh?
Heed you not how sweet we greet you?
Ever since the breath of morn
We have waited for your coming,
Fearing when the bee's dull horn
Round our quiet bower was humming:
We have kept our sweets for thee —
Poet, do not pass us by:
Place us on thy breast, for see!
By the sunset we must die.