The Mistaken Moth
’MID the summer flush of roses
Red and white,
Sat a damsel fair, a very
Pretty sight;
Till a butterfly, so smart,
With a flutter and a dart,
Kissed her mouth and made her start
In a fright.
“Ah, forgive me!” begged the insect,
“If you please;
I assure you that I didn’t
Mean to tease.
I but took your rosebud lip
For the rose wherein I dip,
All its honey sweet to sip
At mine ease.”
Said the beauty, to the moth,
“You may try
To excuse your forward conduct,
Sir, but I
Wish it clearly understood
That such roses are too good
To be kissed by every rude
Butterfly!”
Translated from Wegener.