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TOHTRY OF FLOWEBRS. 247. 
Whiere are the flowers, the fair young flowers, 
that lately sprung, and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous 
sisterhood ? 
Alas! they allare in their graves : the gentlerace 
of flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and 
good of ours. 
The rain is falling where they lie; but the cold 
November rain 
Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely 
ones again. 
The wind-flower and the violet, they perished 
long ago ; 
And the wild-rose and the orchis died amid the 
summer glow ; 
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in 
the wood, 
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in au- 
tumn beauty stood, 
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as 
falls the plague on men, 
And the brightness of their smile was gone from 
upland, glade, and glen. 
And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still 
such days will come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their 
wintry home, 
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