Textpit

I cropt a lily from the stalk,
And in my hand it died away;
So did my joy, so will my heart,
In false love’s cruel grasp decay.

I watched the sun an hour too soon
Set into clouds behind the town;
So my false lover left, and said
“Good night” before the day was down.

I threw a stone into the sea,
And deep it sunk into the sand,
And so did my poor heart in me
When my false lover left the land.

I put my finger in a bush,
Thinking the sweeter rose to find;
I pricked my finger to the bone,
And left the sweetest rose behind.

The apparition of these faces in the crowd:

Petals on a wet, black bough.