ANNIVERSARY.
The brooding July noon, the still, deep heats
Upon the full-leaved woods and flowering maize,
The first wheat harvest, and the torrid blaze
Which on the sweating reapers fiercely beats
And drives each songster to its own retreats,—
Much less the stately lily of the field,
Gorgeous in scarlet, whose large anthers yield
The honey-bee meet prison for its sweets,
A flame amid the meadow-land's rich green—
With the revolving year is never seen
But o'er the sunny landscape creeps a shade
Of solemn recollection. Lilies! lean
Your brilliant coronals where once was laid
A boy's brow grand in death, and "Rest in peace" be said.