I Saw On A Hedge That Was Flourishing By A Rose That Was Stirred By The Breath Of The Morn, So Smiling And Fragrant It Looked There, That I Was Tempted To Seize It, Forgetting The Thorn. I Eagerly Plucked It But Found To My Pain 'Twas Scentless And In It An Insect Was Curled, So I Flung It Away To The Hedgerow Again And I Thought Of The Joys Of This Troublesome World.