In the sunny garden bed
Lilies look so pale,
Lilies droop the head
In the shady, grassy vale;
If all alike they pine
In shade and in shine,
If everywhere they grieve,
Where will lilies live?
(October enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different sorts of nuts in one hand, and a long, ripe hop-vine trailing after him from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his button-hole.)
October.