Xxii

`But the blue-eyed son till the summer was

done

`Cared well for his fairy-flower;

`He weeded and watered, and killed the

grub

`Would its delicate leaves devour.

XXIII.

`Then forth to his garden he went one day,

`And the fairy plant was dead;

`The leaves were black in the white frost-

light,

`And the stalk was a shrivelled shred.

XXIV.

`"Now, never a rose like a golden ball,

`Nor a silver lily shall blow;

`But never I'll mind, for I'm sure to find

`More gold, if I work, I know."