CYCLAMEN

I had a plant which would not thrive, Although I watered it with care, I could not save the blossoms fair, Nor even keep the leaves alive.

I strove till it was vain to strive. I gave it light, I gave it air, I sought from skill and counsel rare The means to make it yet survive.

A lady sent it me, to prove She held my friendship in esteem; I would not have it as she said, I wanted it to be for love; And now not even friends we seem, And now the cyclamen is dead.