The dew lay thick upon the unstirr'd leaves;
The glow-worm glisten'd brightly as he pass'd;
The thrush still chaunted, but the swallows fast
Hied to their home beneath lone cottage eaves.
"The Sculptor" by Walter Richard Cassels
I was the worm that withered thee,
Thy tears of dew all fell for me;
Leaf and stalk and rose are gone,
Exile earth they died upon.
Yes, that last breath of balmy scent
With alien breezes sadly blent!
"A Little Budding Rose" by Emily Jane Bronte