 | Poems |  |
CHRYSANTHEMUMS.
Last blossoms of the blooming year,
That linger on the edge of frost,
A tender dream of summer lost,
Touched by the shade of wintry fear.
That linger on the edge of frost,
A tender dream of summer lost,
Touched by the shade of wintry fear.
No perfume of the violet
That hides its purple in the grass,
Lest all the bees that buzz and pass
Should kiss those eyes, so sweet and wet;
That hides its purple in the grass,
Lest all the bees that buzz and pass
Should kiss those eyes, so sweet and wet;
No fervent passion of the rose,
Flower of the noonday and the south,
That sunward turns her crimson mouth,
And all her heart of splendor shows;
Flower of the noonday and the south,
That sunward turns her crimson mouth,
And all her heart of splendor shows;
120
Nor lily, cold and proudly pale,
That lives and dies an idle queen;
No honey in her breast serene,
No blush for any fluttering gale.
That lives and dies an idle queen;
No honey in her breast serene,
No blush for any fluttering gale.
Yet dear, as dear as all the last;
Dear as the sad delight of dreams,
When day across our eyelids streams,
And all their transient bliss is past;
Dear as the sad delight of dreams,
When day across our eyelids streams,
And all their transient bliss is past;
Painted with tints like Autumn's eve,
When daylight leaves the misty sky,
And through the gray woods listlessly
The twilight wind begins to grieve;
When daylight leaves the misty sky,
And through the gray woods listlessly
The twilight wind begins to grieve;
The pallid pink of fading light,
The somber red that threatens storm,
A sunset saffron soft and warm,
Or petals like the hoar-frost white.
The somber red that threatens storm,
A sunset saffron soft and warm,
Or petals like the hoar-frost white.
Alas! while to my lips ye press,
And ask for praise and pray for love,
All loveliness and grace above,
I taste your breath of bitterness.
And ask for praise and pray for love,
All loveliness and grace above,
I taste your breath of bitterness.
Bitter and sweet these odors rise,
My welcome sounds like sad farewell,
And while I laud your gracious spell
The tears stand trembling in mine eyes.
My welcome sounds like sad farewell,
And while I laud your gracious spell
The tears stand trembling in mine eyes.
| Poems | |