The Dispute

The Grass.
I FELT upon me, as she passed, her feet.
The Beech.
'Neath my green shade she sheltered from the heat.
A Rose.
She plucked me as she passed, and in her breast
Wore me, and I was to her beauty prest.
The Wind.

And now ye He neglected, withering fast,
And the grass withers too, and when have pass'd
These golden summer days, O Beech, no more
She'll sit beneath thy shade; but I endure,
To kiss her when I will; so more than ye
Am I made blest in my felicity.