296 
DIIiGE OF FLOWERS. 
The wind-flower and the violet, 
they perish’d long ago. 
And the wild-rose and the orchis died 
amid the summer glow ; 
But on the hill the golden-rod, 
and the aster in the wood. 
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook 
in autumn beauty stood, 
Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, 
as falls the plague on men, 
And the brightness of their smile was gone 
from upland, glade, and glen. 
And now, when comes the calm, mild day, 
as still such days will come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee 
from out their winter home, 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, 
though all the trees are still. 
And twinkle in the smoky light 
the waters of the rill. 
The south wind searches for the flowers 
whose fragrance late he bore, 
And sighs to find them in the wood 
and by the stream no more. 
And then I think of one who in 
her youthful beauty died. 
