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TO A WILD ROSE.
Wild Rose at night,
When sets the sun, thy petals sink to rest,
Then shadows creep
Across the mossgrown moor, and with a sigh
To me thou art
The perfect model of a transient joy;
I would forget
The long ago when first I saw thy face,
It mirrored then
A thousand thoughts, each from a placid calm
Those hopes are dead,
As in their last embrace thy red leaves close
It is the hidden, not the perfect rose
That bears its head.
And in the past
The dreams that were are wrapped within the cloud
Is gone at last.
The asters bloom in the tangled grass,
And nod in deep concern,
For a gay little breeze has lost his way,
And is caught amid the fern.
The wind comes whispering down the hills;
The trees sway to and fro,
A murmur breathes from the solemn pines
The clematis hangs from the sun-kissed fence;
A bird in a coat of dun,
In circles wide, skims over the field,
And is off for the land of sun.
The blue of the sky has the softer hue
The brook in a glint of shimmering light,
Has changed its laugh for a sadder strain,
ROB'T LANGDALE & CO.,
Tailors and Importers,
103 Orange Street, New Haven, Conn.
CO-OPERATIVE DISCOUNT ALLOWED.
THE DOLE BROS. CO.,
ONLY STRICTLY ATHLETIC GOODS STORE IN CITY,
1022 CHAPEL STREET.