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Poem	O crimson-tined flowers That live when others die, What thoughtless hand unloving Could ever pass you by? You are the last bright blossoms, The summer's after-glow, When all her early children Have faded long ago. Sweet golden-rod and xenia And crimson marigold, What dreams of autumn splendor Your velvet leaves unfold. Long, long ago the violets Have closed their sweet blue eyes, And lain with pale, dead faces Beneath the summer skies. And on their graves you blossom With leaves of gold and red, And yet—how soon forever Your beauty will be fled. The frost will come to kill you The snows will wrap you round; And you will sleep forgotten Upon the frozen ground. Your tints are like the beauty The sunlight leaves behind, And deep and full of sadness The thoughts you bring to mind. Dear memories of the summer! Sweet tokens of the past! You are the fairest flowers Because you are the last.
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