FLOWERS BY TILE POETS : 
THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 
Thou blossom: bright with autumn dew, 
And colored with the heaven’s own blue,. 
That openest when, the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night ; 
Thou contest not when Violets lean 
O’er wandering brooks and springs unseen 
Or Columbines, in purple dressed, 
Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest. 
Thou waitest late- and com r st alone, 
When woods are bare and buds are flown. 
And-frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged Year is near his 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 walk 
I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart,. 
Ifey - look to* heaven as I depart. 
I W.M. Cur.I.EN Bjjyant 
