Her stores for a future supply!"
The Rose-Bud of Autumn
Come out—pretty Rose-Bud,—my lone, timid one!
Come forth from thy green leaves, and peep at the sun!
For little he does, in these dull autumn hours,
At height'ning of beauty, or laughing with flowers.
His beams, on thy tender young cheek as he plays,
Will give it a blush that no other could raise: