Apple, Thorn - The Language of Flowers

Apple, Thorn.

Deceitful Charms.

I love thee not. I will not lay
One offering on thy shrine,
Though others their devotions pay
As though thou wert divine.

I love thee not. I know deceit
And guile are in thy heart,--
That all thy words, so soft and sweet,
Are but tricks of art.

I love thee not. The simplest mind
Is dearer far to me,
(Though far less Brilliant and refined,)
Than ever thine can be!