Page:Poems Hornblower.djvu/89

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77

The wild autumnal storm
Which whistles o'er thy form,
Will in its ruthlessness exhale
Thy slight "perfume upon the gale;"
And thou still lower hang thine humble head.
Then come, and on the tomb
Of one whose short-lived bloom
Was like thine own, thy parting sweetness shed;
For she, like thee, when wintry storms appeared,
Her modest head upreared,
And in her gentleness defied the blast;
Like thee, she faded slowly, day by day.
Like thine, her early bloom exhaled away,
When summer suns and the bright hours were past.