Poems (Dorr)/O. W. H.
O. W. H.
(August 29, 1809.)
"How shall I crown this child?" fair Summer cried. "May wasted all her violets long ago; No longer on the hills June's roses glow,Flushing with tender bloom the pastures wide.My stately lilies one by one have died: The clematis is but a ghost—and lo! In the fair meadow-lands no daisies blow;How shall I crown this Summer child?" she sighed.Then quickly smiled. "For him, for him," she said,"On every hill my golden-rod shall flame,Token of all my prescient soul foretells.His shall be golden song and golden fame—Long golden years with love and honor wed—And crowns, at last, of silver immortelles!"