I.
Rare plant, or flow’r, or nymph-like tree,
With human sense endu’d;
Why dost thou shrink beneath the touch,
And bear but to be view’d?
II.
Say does some Hamadryad chuse
In that green stem to live?
And to her highly favour’d shrine
This strong sensation give?
III.
Well for thy sake their ancient oaks
The wood-nymphs might forsake;
And in thy purer bosom with
Their lov’d abodes to make.
IV.
Yet why indignant from each hand
Alike dost thou retire?
Does ev’ry touch, replete with ill,
Alike thy hate inspire?
V.
Too cautious nymph! well might’st thou deign
To some thy breast unfold;
Sure those would worship at the touch,
Who love when they behold.
VI.
Shrunk in herself, with modest grace
The Plant thus fair reply’d,
“Whate’er my source, my maiden state
“But ill agrees with pride.