The Rose: Spoilt

I met a silly little rose So neatly beautified; She spoke a few the words she chose, By mother's breast she lied. She had a smile, a pleasant smile; Her petals hectic red - She danced on waving breeze in thrill And never did she fade. But once a heartless dandy lad Had wished to have the rose, To offer to his flaunting love And entertain her nose. The love-sick boy did go to her And stared in wanton gaze; The rose had soft but catchy air: He tore her struck with craze. The beauty spoils on mother's breast, The mother has to see; But left in utter grim detest She only has to see. The rose, while offered to his love, Was held with tricky mourn: The lad on knees when raised above, The tender rose was thrown. 'Tis heard till now if there you go The rose where left in gloom, She makes the air sweeten, lo ! She's yet no more to bloom.