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AUTUMN FLOWERS. 23T
0, that hrow, how oft I soothed it When Consumption's mists were there!
This dark lock—how fondly smoothed it, Gleaming with that silken hair.
Those meek eyes—I see them now
Lighted with unnatural fire, As if turned from all below
And fixed on something higher.
Sacred relic from the grave, How it wakes the dead to life!
Only this my love could save,— 'Tis with fondest mem'ries rife. •
AUTUMN FLOWERS. My sweet flowers! behold them laden
With the heavy frosts of night; Some are bending, others broken,
And their green leaves crusted white.
Thus we oft have seen the aged Bending 'neath the hand of care,
When the frosts of time have gathered On the forehead once so fair..
Yesterday, an aged pilgrim Passed me on his homeward way;
On his furrowed brow were written Tales of trouble and decay.