


POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
THE LAST AUTUMN FLOWER, 
Tue last autumn flower 
Is withered and dead, 
And has bowed to the tempest 
Its beautiful head ; 
Its leaves are all faded, 
Its loveliness flown, 
In the place where it flourished 
No more it is known. 
It awakened to life 
In the glory of Spring, 
When earth’s beauties were rife, 
And the bee on the wing ; 
And it smiled in the sunbeam, 
And danced in the breeze, 
When summer shone brightly 
On the flowers and trees. 
It lingered to share in 
The sun’s latest ray, 
When the rest of its sisters 
Had faded away ; 
But when cold tempests gathered, 
And wintry winds blew, 
It shrank from the trial, 
And it fell away too, 
