DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 79 
TO TIIE FRINGED GENTIAN. 
BRFANT. 
Thou blossom bright with autumn dew 
And colored with the heaven's own blue, 
Thou openest when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night. 
Thou comest not when violets lean 
O’er wandering brooks and springs unseen, 
Or columbines, in purple dress, 
Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest. 
Thou waitest late, and com’st alone, 
When woods are bare and birds are flown, 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged year is near its end. 
Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky, 
Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean wall. 
I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
May look to heaven as I depart. 
