68
Poems.
TO A ROSE TREE IN AUTUMN.
Sweet, fragrant, blushing rose,
The fairest flower that blows,
Thou soon wilt fade;
Thou It live thy little hour,
To grace a wintry bower,
Then low be laid.
The fairest flower that blows,
Thou soon wilt fade;
Thou It live thy little hour,
To grace a wintry bower,
Then low be laid.
The brightest flowers must die,
The greenest leaves will lie,
Low on the ground;
For autumn winds that blow,
Will bend their branches low,
On earth's cold mound.
The greenest leaves will lie,
Low on the ground;
For autumn winds that blow,
Will bend their branches low,
On earth's cold mound.
But when young Spring is seen,
Arrayed in garb of green,
They 'll rise once more,
And live another life,
With buds and flowers rife,
A charming store.
Arrayed in garb of green,
They 'll rise once more,
And live another life,
With buds and flowers rife,
A charming store.
Not so with mortal man,
Whose life is but a span,
Can Spring return;
He lives but one short life,
That 's marked with care and strife,
But lives to learn.
Whose life is but a span,
Can Spring return;
He lives but one short life,
That 's marked with care and strife,
But lives to learn.
