The Golden Rod

Spring is the morning of the year,

And summer is the noontide bright;

The autumn is the evening clear,

That comes before the winter's night.

And in the evening, everywhere

Along the roadside, up and down,

I see the golden torches flare

Like lighted street-lamps in the town.

I think the butterfly and bee,

From distant meadows coming back,

Are quite contented when they see

These lamps along the homeward track.

But those who stay too late get lost;

For when the darkness falls about,

Down every lighted street the Frost

Will go and put the torches out!

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