 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
181
TO THE “BOUQUET CLUB”
O Rosebud garland of girls!
Who ask for a song from me,
To what sweet air shall I set my lay?
What shall its key-note be?
The flowers have gone from wood and hill;
The rippling river lies white and still;
And the birds that sang on the maple bough,
Afar in the South are singing now!
Who ask for a song from me,
To what sweet air shall I set my lay?
What shall its key-note be?
The flowers have gone from wood and hill;
The rippling river lies white and still;
And the birds that sang on the maple bough,
Afar in the South are singing now!
O Rosebud garland of girls!
If the whole glad year were May;
If winds sang low in the clustering leaves,
And roses bloomed alway;
If youth were all that there is of life;
If the years brought nothing of care or strife,
Nor ever a cloud to the ether blue,
It were easy to sing a song for you!
If the whole glad year were May;
If winds sang low in the clustering leaves,
And roses bloomed alway;
If youth were all that there is of life;
If the years brought nothing of care or strife,
Nor ever a cloud to the ether blue,
It were easy to sing a song for you!
Yet, O my garland of girls!
Is there nothing better than May?
The golden glow of the harvest time!
The rest of the Autumn day!
This thought I give to you all to keep:
Who soweth good seed shall surely reap;
The year grows rich as it groweth old,
And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!
Is there nothing better than May?
The golden glow of the harvest time!
The rest of the Autumn day!
This thought I give to you all to keep:
Who soweth good seed shall surely reap;
The year grows rich as it groweth old,
And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |