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Each gorgeous cloud, in rich array, 
Like Hope’s fond dreams is given, 
To lift from earth our thoughts away, 
And fix them upon Heaven; 
The drooping bough, and fading leaf, 
Of Joy’s gay beams might tell, 
As brilliant once, as fickle, brief, 
Her evanescent spell. 
And in the flowers that now remain, 
To decorate the earth, 
We read how futile, cold, and vain, 
Is beauty, without worth! 
The lordly Sunflower, who has caught 
Her god’s approving eye, 
Uplifts her graceful head, with ‘thought 
Forever pure and high.’ 
The Zinnia to the true of heart 
A precious solace lends, 
And would in accents soft impart 
A dream of ‘ Absent Friends ! ’ 
