The Rose did caper on her cheek

Her fingers fumbled at her work —

Her needle would not go —

What ailed so smart a little Maid —

It puzzled me to know —

Till opposite — I spied a cheek

That bore another Rose —

Just opposite — Another speech

That like the Drunkard goes —

A Vest that like her Bodice, danced —

To the immortal tune —

Till those two troubled — little Clocks

Ticked softly into one.