THE night before I sailed for Spain
We stood together, Rose and I,
Outside the ball-room, on the stairs,
And looked and spoke the last good-by.
I begged a flower, to me more fair
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Than any other flower that blows.
With laughing eyes she bade me choose
A dainty rosebud, or a rose.
"Give me the bud," I quickly cried,
"No full-developed flower for me.
Youth, youth alone is fair; soon fades
The blossom of maturity."
Two years are past, and I return
To find my little rose in bloom;
A glorious creature, nobly wrought,
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The Cricket Eleven.
