Some one came by,
Saw the flower how fair it had grown,
Chose it, plucked it to die.
And what is a flower alone,
Then alone and for ever alone,
Come no one by?
Why should a flower be fair for its own?
Choose it, pluck it to die.
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VIATOR loquitur
Free, and unknowing sorrow,Blithely and lithely to and fro,With flowers for thy choosing still a-blow,Flaunt through the idle noon:But the day is short and the summer sped,And alas for the end of joy so soon;The days are short and the rose is dead,And thou wilt be dying to-morrow.’BUTTERFLY loquitur‘Sunshine and blossoms are on my way;What…
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