George Darley (1795–1846)

O MARK yon Rose-tree! When the West

Breathes on her with too warm a zest,

She turns her cheek away;

Yet if one moment he refrain,

She turns her cheek to him again,

And woos him still to stay!

Is she not like a maiden coy

Press’d by some amorous-breathing boy?

Tho’ coy, she courts him too,

Winding away her slender form,

She will not have him woo so warm,

And yet will have him woo!