Sir Andrea
(ballad)
What churl has pluckt the yellow rose
And cast it to the ground,
As if ‘twere but a common weed
And not a fleur renowned?
Who was it who did not admire
This prize in full fair bloom,
Who cut it to its tender stalk
And wrought untimely doom?
What fellow crushed it’s yellow head—
Tore petals from the boll,
And set them spiraling to earth
Asunder from the whole?
Whose foot then trod them in the loam,
As from the field he strolled,
Abandoned with their heady scent
Commingling with the mold?
It must have been a loveless soul
To wreak such wanton woe,
For all Caid, ‘tis surely known,
Esteemed Andrea so.
--Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler
Not sure which Crown this was, but it's for Andrea and calls her a yellow rose. I'm sure I can find it somewhere. It may be in here already, just don't know what it's called.
