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T IGHT-CLIMBING Clematis! I scarce can tell 

 -1 i When them art fairest, in thy maiden days, 

 When over brier and bush thy clinging sprays 

 Break into bloom, and every wayside dell 

 Shines with thy clustered stars, or, matron grown, 

 When Autumn winds thy silken tresses toss 

 Into green-rippling waves of gleam and gloss, 

 Or, later yet, when woodlands glow, and lone 

 In the still air, thy snowy locks unbound, 

 Thou stand' st, a picture of serene old age. 

 Thrice fair thou art ; nay, more than fair, most sage. 

 Since thy brief season tells this truth profound : 

 Rough rock, sharp thorn, dead branch, if used in time 

 Are but the heavenward helps by which we climb. 

 JULY. 



