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These golden Buttercups are April's seal, —
The Daisy stars her constellations be:
These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel,
Therefore I pluck no Daisies but for thee !

Here's Daisies for the morn, Primrose for gloom,
Pansies and Roses for the noontide hours :
A wight once made a dial of their bloom,
So may thy life be measur'd out by flow'rs!


The dead are in their silent graves,
And the dew is cold above,
And the living weep and sigh,

Over dust that once was love.

Once I only wept the dead,
But now the living cause my pain :
How couldst thou steal me from my tears,
To leave me to my tears again?

My Mother rests beneath the sod, -
Her rest is calm and very deep :
I wish'd that she could see our loves,
But now I gladden in her sleep.



The Autumn is old,
The sere leaves are flying ;
He hath gather'd up gold,
And now he is dying ;
Old age, begin sighing!

The vintage is ripe,
The harvest is heaping ;-
But some that have sow'd
Have no riches for reaping ;
Poor wretch, fall a weeping !

The year

's in the wane, There is nothing adorning, The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning.

The rivers run chill,
The red sun is sinking,
And I am grown old,
And life is fast shrinking: -
Here's enow for sad thinking !

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