No More Learning

_ You took her up, a little tender flower,
Just           on a bank, which the next frost
Had nipp'd; and with a careful, loving hand,
Transplanted her into your own fair garden,
Where the sun always shines: there long she flourish'd;
Grew sweet to sense, and lovely to the eye;
Till at the last a cruel spoiler came,
Cropp'd this fair rose, and rifled all its sweetness,
Then cast it like a loathsome weed away.