The wild flower

A wild flower by the wayside

was gathered by a maid,

A butterfly upon it

with folded pinions stayed.

For all my friends are yours.

The maiden put her captive

in a cage with her dove,

And very soon the bird

and the butterfly made love.

For all my friends are yours.

White robes hath now the butterfly

and small white shoes hath he,

For meet it was in white robes

that he should married be.

For all my friends are yours.

But mid their joy the flower

a weary time did pass,

And drooped for grief and loneliness

and withered in her glass,

For all her friends belonged to others.