Love or Fame; and Other Poems Part 16

Like autumn leaves sometimes they fall-- The words that burn and falter; And is it true they too must fade Upon Love's sacred alter?

From memory each one of us Can cull some sweetest treasure; Yet golden days, like golden leaves, Give pain as well as pleasure.

There was a sound of music low-- An undertone of laughter: The sun was gone--yet heaven knew The stars that followed after.

Autumn Flowers.

O crimson-tined flowers That live when others die, What thoughtless hand unloving Could ever pa.s.s you by?

You are the last bright blossoms, The summer's after-glow, When all her early children Have faded long ago.

Sweet golden-rod and xenia And crimson marigold, What dreams of autumn splendor Your velvet leaves unfold.

Long, long ago the violets Have closed their sweet blue eyes, And lain with pale, dead faces Beneath the summer skies.

And on their graves you blossom With leaves of gold and red, And yet--how soon forever Your beauty will be fled.

The frost will come to kill you The snows will wrap you round; And you will sleep forgotten Upon the frozen ground.

Your tints are like the beauty The sunlight leaves behind, And deep and full of sadness The thoughts you bring to mind.

Dear memories of the summer!

Sweet tokens of the past!

You are the fairest flowers Because you are the last.

Remembrance.

Why should we dream of days gone by?

Why should we wait and wonder?

Sweet summer days have come and gone, The leaves are falling yonder.

The wee sweet flowers we loved the best, The king of frost has chosen; And now the sun looks sadly down Upon his darlings frozen.

Ah! summer sun and autumn frost, You are at war forever; For all the ties that one would make The other fain would sever.

With autumn days remembrance comes Of golden glories fleeting; Of pleasures gone and sorrows come-- Of parting and of meeting.

Oh! summer days, why haunt us still?

Remembrance is a sorrow; And all the dreams we dream to-day Will fade upon the morrow.

Each life has some sweet summer-time, Some perfect day of beauty; When flowers of love and leaves of hope Are twined around each duty.

But oh! the autumn-time will come, Which fades each golden glory; And life, when we are old and gray, Seems but a sad, old story.

Winter Flowers.

The summer queen has many flowers To deck her sunny hair, And trailing gra.s.ses, pure and sweet, To scent the heavy air; And upward through the misty sky There is a glory too, Of floating clouds and rifts of gold And depths of smiling blue.

Yet winter, too, can boast a wealth Of flowers pure and white; A kingly crown of frosted gems-- A wreath of sparkling light; So bright and beautiful, indeed, It were a wondrous sight To see a world of fragile flowers Sprung up within a night.

And sometimes there are cast'es, too, Of glittering ice and snow, Piled high upon our window-panes 'Neath curtains hanging low; And they are like the castles fair Our day-dreams build for aye; A frozen mist that one warm breath May quickly drive away.

And yet, how beautiful they are, These flowers of our breath; That bloom when not a leaf is left To mourn the summer's death.

And oh! how wondrous are the things That G.o.d has given the earth; The day that brings to one a death Smiles on another's birth.

Snow-Flakes.

I wonder what they are, These pretty, wayward things, That o'er the gloomy earth The wind of heaven flings.

Each one a tiny star, And each a perfect gem; What magic in the art That thus has fas.h.i.+oned them.

What beauty in the flake That falls upon my hand; And yet this tiny thing My will cannot command.

No two are just alike, And yet they are the same; I wonder if my thought Could give to each a name.

Unlike the fragile flowers That love the sun's warm rays, These snow-flakes love the cold, And die on sunny days!

So dainty and so pure, How beautiful they are; And yet the slightest touch Their purity may mar.