Reading Time: < 1 minute



When Roses cease to bloom, Sir,
And Violets are done—
When Bumblebees in solemn flight
Have passed beyond the Sun—
The hand that paused to gather
Upon this Summer’s day
Will idle lie—in Auburn—
Then take my flowers—pray!

Previous Poem
When Memory is full
Next Poem
Where Bells No More Affright The Morn