The lilies of the valley
By young graves weep,
The pansies love to dally
Where maidens sleep;
May their bloom, in beauty vying,
Never wane
Where thine earthly part is lying,
Florence Vane!
LIFE IN THE AUTUMN WOODS
Summer has gone! And fruitful autumn has advanced so far, That there is warmth, not heat, in the broad sun, And you may look with steadfast gaze upon The ardors of his car; The stealthy frosts, whom his spent looks embolden, Are making the green leaves golden. What a brave splendor Is in the October air! How rich and clear How life-full, and all joyous! We must render Love to the springtime, with its sproutings tender, As to a child quite dear But autumn is a noon, prolonged, of glory A manhood not yet hoary. I love the woods In this best season of the liberal year; I love to haunt their whispering solitudes, And give myself to melancholy moods, With no intruder near; And find strange lessons, as I sit and ponder, In every natural wonder.
