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And all unconsciously she thus
Grieved her own true Knight:—
"And is the paltry pink the flower
That I must wear for thee?—
I'll find a brighter, fitter one,
That thou shalt take from me."
Then, where the deep Carnations showed
Their rich and glowing hues,
And filled the air with spicy scent,
Hied she a flower to choose.
And once again she sighed—"Farewell!"—
The Knight alone was left—
And in his hand the token-flower—
Fair Edith's parting gift.
The Pink, by Knight to Ladye given,
Prays her to be his Bride—
The proud Carnation answering tells
That fervent prayer's denied.
Now ye who know what 'tis to love,
Think what Sir Rupert felt,
As on that flower, with wond'ring grief
His eyes still sadly dwelt.
He dreamed not that twas idly done,
In careless sportive freak;
