DEOrS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 103 
THE SUMMER FLOWER. 
J. X|. H. 
Sweet summer flower, thou, too, must fade! 
The soft refreshing dew, 
That on thy breast has crystals made, 
Must dry and vanish too. 
The zephyrs soft that round thee play, 
The showers that make thee bloom; 
The sun, whose rays first made thee gay, 
Must have with them a tomb. 
Sweet summer flower — the lips that breathe 
A sorrowing sigh on thee; 
Or plucked to deck fair beauty’s wreath. 
All, all but wither thee: 
Full many a flower by thee outgrown 
How casts thee in the shade, 
And yet your case will be their own, 
And they like thee must fade. 
But ah, alas! how like our fate 
Is thus a fading flower; 
How many a weary, sick’ning state 
Has followed pleasure’s hour: 
How oft the sun auspicious rose, 
And we were happy blest, 
And yet before the evening’s close, 
It saw an aching breast. 
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