WARNED
Reading edition
They stood at the garden gate. By the lifting of a lid She might have read her fate In a little thing he did.
He plucked a beautiful flower; Tore it away from its place On the side of the blooming bower; And held it against his face.
Drank in its beauty and bloom, In the midst of his idle talk; Then cast it down to the gloom And dust of the garden walk.
Ay, trod it under his foot, As it lay in his pathway there; Then spurned it away with his boot, Because it bad ceased to be fair.
Ah! the maiden might have read The doom of her young life then; But she looked in his eyes instead, And thought him the king of men.
She looked in his eyes and blushed, She hid in his strong arms’ fold; And the tale of the flower, crushed And spurned, was once more told.