278 ARBOR DAY 



And brought me home, as all are brought, to lie 

 In that vast house, common to serfs and Thanes 



I shall not die, I shall not utterly die, 

 For beauty born of beauty that remains. 



TO A WITHERED ROSE 



BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS 



THY span of life was all too short 



A week or two at best 

 From budding-time, through blossoming, 



To withering and rest. 



Yet compensation hast thou aye 



For all thy little woes; 

 For was it not thy happy lot 



To live and die a rose? 



MARIGOLDS 



BY JOHN KEATS 



OPEN afresh your round of starry folds, 



Ye ardent marigolds! 



Dry up the moisture of your golden lids, 



For great Appollo bids 



That in these days your praises shall be sung 



