by Arlo Bates
Gay in her red gown, trim and fine,
Dances the merry columbine.
Never she thinks if her petals shall fall ;
Cold rains beating she does not dread ;
Sunshine is round her and spring birds call,
Blue are the skies above her head.
So in her red gown, trim and fine,
Merrily dances the columbine.
Blithe with her white throat, smooth and fine,
Dances the careless columbine.
If she coquets with the wandering bee,
When he goes does she toss her head ;
Heart-whole and frolicsome still is she,
Lovers enough she finds instead.
So with her white throat smooth and fine.
Carelessly dances the columbine.
Bright in her coronet, golden and fine,
Dances the mocking columbine.
Gay is she still, whatsoever befall,
Loveless wanton, on pleasure bent ;
Now is her moment, her day, her all ;
Where will she be when it is spent?
Then will be dust all her coronet fine ;
Dust, only dust, mocking columbine.