by Morris Bishop
A rose once bloomed in a garden,
White and dainty and fair,
By the garden wall at evenfall
It dreamed and nodded there;
And a raspberry bush climbed over the wall
And hung in a rakish pose;
"Haven't we met somewhere, my pet?"
The raspberry said to the rose.
The pure white rose turned whiter,
And trembled upon its stalk;
One of its petals slowly settled
Down on the garden walk;
"I'm not the kind of a rose,” she said,
"That blossoms in studios;
You're wicked, very, you red raspberry!"
To the raspberry said the rose.
"Be mine, be mine, O maiden rose !"
The wicked raspberry cried;
But the rose was brave and cried, "Behave!
Begone to, your raspberry bride;
The rose may only woo the rose,
The cherry espouse the cherry,
The gypsy maid gets the gypsy blade,
The raspberry gets the berry!"
"Rose, you have torn in tatters
A raspberry heart today;
To make you share my own despair,
I'll throw myself away;
And maybe you'll be sorry
And cease to be so merry
When it is said that I have wed
A horrid black blackberry !"
And just to pain a sweet little rose —
Lovers are very queer —
He made a match in the blackberry patch
And ruined his own career;
And from that shameful mating
'Twas only temporary —
Was born that wild, alluring child,
The lovely loganberry!