Lydia Howard Sigourney



The Fallen Rose

by Lydia Howard Sigourney

A rose was gather'd from the bower,
Where lovingly it grew,
By summer's genial sunbeam cheer'd
And fed with dew.

Who pluck'd it from its home away?
A thoughtless passer-by?
A vengeful heart on evil bent?
An envious eye?

Who broke the stalk? Methought a voice
Spake tenderly and low,
No careless hand this deed hath wrought,
No cruel foe:

The florist. who the plant had rear'd,
Set on the flower his seal,
He sows the seed to reap the fruit,
He wounds to heal.


The Weeping Willow
Copyright 1847
Henry S. Parsons, Hartford.