It was a little budding rose, <br />Round like a fairy globe, <br />And shyly did its leaves unclose <br />Hid in their mossy robe, <br />But sweet was the slight and spicy smell <br />It breathed from its heart invisible. <br /> <br />The rose is blasted, withered, blighted, <br />Its root has felt a worm, <br />And like a heart beloved and slighted, <br />Failed, faded, shrunk its form. <br />Bud of beauty, bonnie flower, <br />I stole thee from thy natal bower. <br /> <br />I was the worm that withered thee, <br />Thy tears of dew all fell for me; <br />Leaf and stalk and rose are gone, <br />Exile earth they died upon. <br />Yes, that last breath of balmy scent <br />With alien breezes sadly blent!<br /><br />Emily Jane Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-little-budding-rose/
