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DON'T OVERDO IT.
69
Your game is losing,
Though amusing.
Pray, have you seen an early bud
In spring unfold,
Then shrink with cold
And hide its blushing flower-blood?
In such a season
There's small reason;
And, though we sport with laughing May,
'Tis constant June
So fair and boon
That wins the flower and makes it stay.
Once overdo it,
And you'll rue it:
Too sharp a frost will kill, I fear.
The bloom you waste
Can't be replaced,—
At least, until another year!
