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FLOWERS OF AUTUMN.
H, these are the last of my flowers!These pansies of purple and white;
These mourning-brides, heavy with showers,
And veiled in the colors of night;
This perfume-distilling sweet-pea,
Where the honey, unrobbed, lingers yet;
Forget-me-nots, blue as the sea,
And sprays of the sweet mignonette.
The last of my flowers in the vase!
No more shall I steal out to view
Each fresh-budded, glad little face
A-nodding at me in the dew;
No more shall I kiss them apart
In childish impatience of time;
While the currents of love in my heart
Swell into the flower-buds of rhyme.
No more shall I steal out to view
Each fresh-budded, glad little face
A-nodding at me in the dew;
No more shall I kiss them apart
In childish impatience of time;
While the currents of love in my heart
Swell into the flower-buds of rhyme.
Ah me! when my summer shall die,
And Grief drops for me her sad showers,
And Grief drops for me her sad showers,
