222 DIRGE OF FLOWERS. 



What ! were ye born to be 

 An hour or half's delight, 

 And so to bid good-night ? 



'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth 

 Merely to show your worth, 

 And lose you quite. 



But you are lovely leaves, where we 

 May read how soon things have 

 Their end, though ne'er so brave: 



And after they have shown their pride. 

 Like you, awhile, they glide 

 Into the grave. 



