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FLOWERS OF AUTUMN.
O'er my poor lays some loved one will sigh,
Saying, "These are the last of her flowers!"
Yet, softly rehearsing the lines,
Forbearing to cavil or sneer,
Will murmur, "Her spirit repines
No more at the fall of the Year.
Saying, "These are the last of her flowers!"
Yet, softly rehearsing the lines,
Forbearing to cavil or sneer,
Will murmur, "Her spirit repines
No more at the fall of the Year.
"She has passed from the shade of the tomb;
She has put off the colors of night;
All her flower-buds of thought are in bloom,
And heavy with dews of delight!
Dear heart! so the season is sweet,
For God's love enriches her hours;
No more will she, sighing, repeat,
'Ah, these are the last of my flowers!'"
She has put off the colors of night;
All her flower-buds of thought are in bloom,
And heavy with dews of delight!
Dear heart! so the season is sweet,
For God's love enriches her hours;
No more will she, sighing, repeat,
'Ah, these are the last of my flowers!'"
