Page:The collected poems, lyrical and narrative, of A. Mary F. Robinson.djvu/86

A Dialogue

She.	The dandelions in the grass
	Are blown to fairies' clocks;
	On this green bank I pluckt (Alas)
	The last of lady-smocks.
He.	Let them die,
	What care?
	Roses come when field flowers pass.
She.	But these sun-sated sultry hours
	Will make your roses fall:
	Their large wide-open crimson flowers
	Must die like daisies small.
He.	Sweet as yet!
	I'll forget
	(When they die) they lived at all!

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