DIRGE OF FLOWERS. 
Away 
Like to the summer’s rain, 
Or, as the pearls of morning dew, 
Ne’er to be found again. 
LAST FLOWERS. 
ANON. 
Those few pale Autumn flowers! 
How beautiful they are ! 
Than all that went before, 
Than all the summer store. 
How lovelier far! 
And why?—They are the last — 
The last! — the last! — the last! 
O, by that little word, 
How many thoughts are stirr’d ! 
That sister of the past! 
Pale flowers ! — Pale perishing flower 
Ye’re types of precious things ! 
Types of those bitter moments. 
That flit like life’s enjoyments, 
On rapid, rapid wings. 
Last hours with parting dear ones 
(That time the fastest spends), 
