74 VOICE OF FLOW K us. 



BLOSSOMS FALLING FROM 

 T HE FRUIT-TREES. 



THE World doth take us captive with its wiles 

 Of vanity or plousure. So our thoughts 

 Are scarce in unison with Nature s grief, 

 When her sweet blossoms fade. 



Yon stricken trees, 

 From whence glad Autumn gathcreth plenteous 



store 



Of niddy apples for the wintry eve, 

 Resign their r.-idinnt robes, and rich perfume, 

 That made the orchard like a queen s levee, 

 And clad in russet garments, fleck d with green, 

 Lamenting, teach the philosophic lore 

 Of brief prosperity. 



That lofty pine, 



Which, like some feudal baron from his tower, 

 Did awe the neighboring peasantry of shrubs, 

 Deplores that they should see his boasted 



wealth 

 Stripp d by each robber breeze. 



