Unwarned

’Tis sunrise, little maid, hast thou
No station in the day?
’Twas not thy wont to hinder so,—
Retrieve thine industry.

’Tis noon, my little maid, alas!
And art thou sleeping yet?
The lily waiting to be wed,
The bee, dost thou forget?

My little maid, ’tis night; alas,
That night should be to thee
Instead of morning! Hadst thou broached
Thy little plan to me,
Dissuade thee if I could not, sweet,
I might have aided thee.