Late Chrysanthemums
Beneath the last October sun
My drooping garden lies—
A lovely woman, past her prime,
With haggard eyes.
She bloomed through many a sullen night,
Through many a sudden storm,
The breeze that fanned her tears away
Was fond and warm.
But now beneath the frost she lies,
A lone, neglected spot;
Most like a heart by coldness chilled,
Where love is not.
The butterflies that shared her youth
Share now her dim decay;
The birds that sought her in her joy
Have flown away.
But here and there amid the wreck,
The drift of leaves, appear
The hardy late chrysanthemums
To crown the year.
Strong, bright, courageous, as a smile
They cheer the withered place;
Like the last charm pale Sorrow leaves
A faded face.
O Frost, that comes to all, that spoils
Our blossoms, one by one,
Mature these autumn flowers beneath
Our autumn sun.
That when the days are growing dim,
And nears the wished-for end,
Some flower, some smile, may still be ours
To give a friend.
And when, erelong, beneath the snow
We rest, secure from pain,
Like the old garden we shall find
Our flowers again.
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