When hollyhocks droop low the head, Thou bloomest bright in all their stead, And back recallest their beauty fled, Chrysanthemum. O loved not for thy sake alone, Chrysanthemum ; Not for a beauty all thine own, Chrysanthemum ; For fair blooms to the springtime known, I love thee, blossomer alone, Chrysanthemum. William Cox Bennett. MY A SEPTEMBER ROBIN. eyes are full, my silent heart is stirred, Amid these days so bright Of ceaseless warmth and light; Summer that will not die, Autumn, without one sigh O'er sweet hours passing by; Cometh that tender note Out of thy tiny throat, Like grief, or love, insisting to be heard, No need of word; Well know I all your tale,- forgotten bird! Must face the winter weather, And the warm earth's a-cold; Still with brave heart we'll sing on, little bird, Sing only. Not one word. Hauntingly, a note of woe As I listen, fancy strays And anon the fragrant night, Glow-worms glimmer, fireflies speed, Then the darkness flees, and morn, Dimpled daisies, laughing, toss At my wayward feet; While the lays of bees and birds, Rising from the lap of Noon As thou pipest, thus I fare, Fancy led to visitors rare, Down the summer day. When the winds from Arctic waves, Wailing o'er the flower graves, Glass each shuddering pool, Minstrel, flee thy frozen nest, On the hearth at Yule! OCTOBER. -Eli Shepherd. T is no joy to me to sit IT On dreamy summer eves, When silently the timid moon. Kisses the sleeping leaves, And all things through the fair hush'd earth Love, rest—but nothing grieves. Better I like old Autumn With his hair toss'd to and fro, Firm striding o'er the stubble fields When the equinoctials blow. When shrinkingly the sun creeps up And Robin on the orchard hedge Sings cheerily and bold; While heavily the frosted plum Drops downwards on the mold;-- Into earth's lap does throw Brown apples gay in a game of play, As the equinoctials blow. When the spent year its carol sinks Into a humble psalm, Asks no more for the pleasure draught, |