A Drop of Dew

See how the orient dew
Shed from the bosom of the morn
Into the blowing roses
Yet not knowing its mansion new
From the clear region where it was born
Round in its self encloses
And in its little globe's extent
Frames as can its native element
Because so long divided from the sphere
Restless it rolls and grows impure
Till the warm sun pity its pain
And to the skies exhale it back again.