Dorothy Perkins, long agone,
Was white, white, white as the breast of a swan,
Till a roving bee, in a cloak of gold,
Stared straight in her face, so the tale is told.
And that is the reason, the gossips think,
Why Dorothy Perkins turned to pink.
Then much elate was the bee, as he thought
Of the wonderful change his glance had wrought;
And the story is told by the wind from the South
That the bee kissed Dorothy right on the mouth.
And that is the reason, so it is said,
Why Dorothy Perkins turned to red.
Poems of affection. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1920.
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