Autumn Flower, An
[F ROM THE French .]
S OLITARY , dying flower,
Once the fairest of the vale,
Cometh now the frosty hour,
That gives thy petals to the gale.
So like thee must man decay,
When the winds of death shall blow;
As thy leaflets drop away,
One by one our pleasures go.
Time steals from us, day by day,
Joys that gladdest, dearest seem;
Every hour that flies away,
Robs us of some darling dream.
Rosy visions, hopes most dear,
Youth's illusions fond and fair,
Fade and fail and disappear,
Like thy fragrance, turned to air!
Until man by trouble tossed,
Waiting death's autumnal hour,
Sadly asks in reverie lost,
Which is trailest, life or flower?
S OLITARY , dying flower,
Once the fairest of the vale,
Cometh now the frosty hour,
That gives thy petals to the gale.
So like thee must man decay,
When the winds of death shall blow;
As thy leaflets drop away,
One by one our pleasures go.
Time steals from us, day by day,
Joys that gladdest, dearest seem;
Every hour that flies away,
Robs us of some darling dream.
Rosy visions, hopes most dear,
Youth's illusions fond and fair,
Fade and fail and disappear,
Like thy fragrance, turned to air!
Until man by trouble tossed,
Waiting death's autumnal hour,
Sadly asks in reverie lost,
Which is trailest, life or flower?
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