FAREWELL TO THE FLOWERS IN

AUTUMN.

��MY flowers, my few and precious flowers, what evil

hath been here ? Came the fierce frost-king forth at night, so secret and

severe ? I saw you last, with diamond dew fresh on each beauteous

head, And little deern'd to find ye thus, all desolate and dead.

White poppy, tall and full of pride, whose petals'

feathery grace,

So oft in snowy globes has deck'd my simple parlour vase ; Thy oozing buds disclose the gum, that swells Hygeia's

store, But the sleep of death is on thee now, thy magic spell

is o'er.

Alas, my brave crysanthemum, how crisp thou art, and

sere, Thou wert, perchance, too lightly priz'd, when gaudier

friends were near,

�� �