Page:Poems Larcom.djvu/118

Blue autumn flower, thy deep heart stores
   Heaven's azure;
And thence from out thy chalice pours
   Rare pleasure.
 The frost a plague-spot blackening casts;
 Thy fringe is torn when sleety blasts
   Grow stronger;
Men love thee while thy beauty lasts;
   No longer.

Thou maid, around whose lip and eye
   Intwining,
The loveliest tints of earth and sky
   Are shining,—
 Thy sweet song dies; thy freshness must
 Fade like a flower's, by blight and dust
   O'ertaken;
And all the roots of mortal trust
   Are shaken.

O, why should thus the beautiful
   O'erbrood us,
Yet ever its harmonious rule
   Elude us?