Dream Not Of Love, To Think It Like What Waking Love May Prove To Be, For I Dreamed So And Broke My Heart, When My False Lover Slighted Me. Love, Like To Flowers, Is Sweet When Green; The Rose In Bud Aye Best Appears; And She That Loves A Handsome Man Should Have More Wit Than She Has Years. I Put My Finger In A Bush, Thinking The Sweeter Rose To Find; I Pricked My Finger To The Bone, And Left The Sweetest Rose Behind. I Threw A Stone Into The Sea, And Deep It Sunk Into The Sand, And So Did My Poor Heart In Me When My False Lover Left The Land. I Watched The Sun An Hour Too Soon Set Into Clouds Behind The Town; So My False Lover Left, And Said "Good Night" Before The Day Was Down. I Cropt A Lily From The Stalk, And In My Hand It Died Away; So Did My Joy, So Will My Heart, In False Love'S Cruel Grasp Decay.