52
Making her glass of a drop of dew
That lay in the Rose's breast.
Then she laugh'd so loud, that the Ant look'd up,
And seeing her haughty face,
Took no more notice, but travell'd on
At the same industrious pace:—
But a sudden blast of Autumn came,
And rudely swept the ground,
And down the rose with the Lady-Bug fell,
And scatter'd its leaves around.
Then the houseless Lady was much amaz'd,
For she knew not where to go,
And hoarse November's early blast
Had brought both rain and snow,—
Her wings were chill, and her feet were cold,
And she wish'd for the Ant's warm cell,—
And what she did when the winter came,
I'm sure I cannot tell.
