And with little tears beginning to start,
And with smiles and blushes that come and go;
And I did not know what was in my heart,
Or else I pretended I did not know!

O sudden awaking from dream so fair!
'Tis the voice of my aunt, and I hear it say--
'Child, are you falling asleep in your chair?
Will you _ever_ finish that collar, May?'

I caught up my work (I knew I was wrong),
Determin'd to finish it ere we sup;
But something within me, for me too strong,
Conquer'd myself, and I _had_ to give up.

'O, my Aunt Bridget,' I timidly said,
'I am _tired_ of stitching--I _want_ to rest;
O let me gather the roses instead,
The young little roses the first and best.'

Soft summer twilights caressing the air
Have buried the garden in lovely gloom;
But I knew that the eagerest roses there
Were just beginning to think they might bloom.

The pretty wee stars kept peeping about,
And even peep'd in through our prison bars,
As she gravely said, 'Who ever went out
To gather a rose by the light of stars?'