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POETEY OF FLOWERS. 287 
Fair fall the dew upon thy crimson stalk! 
Long may the wild bee murmur on thy breast ! 
Long may the wanderer find thee in his walk, 
Where thou hast risen, each spring, from 
death-like rest. 
AUTUMNAL ROSES, 
Wuatareye like, sweet flowers, that gaily bloom 
"Neath autumn’s blast; so softly bending 
Your clustered buds; so sweetly lending 
The rude yet mournful gale your rich perfume? 
What are ye like, amid decay and gloom, 
A brighter tint of joy and summer blending ? 
Oh ! ye are like young spirits yet ascending 
The glade of life, unmindful of the doom 
That sighs around them! When the hand of 
death 
Shall reach the loved companionsof their way, 
And bid each dearest, cherish’d friend depart, 
Like you, sweet flowers ! they’ll bow beneath the 
breath 
That dims all loveliness; the young, the gay, 
Will change and fade—the desolate of heart! 



SSS 
pe 
SSS SSS 

