And fields were ripe, and autumn's flood of flame
From scarlet maples swept from east to west;
They bore no wealth of royal purple bloom,
But seemed meet products of great Nature's gloom.
The lives of men are gardens, from whose soil
Spring rich red-petalled roses, violets blue
As heaven; where, too, the passion-flower's strong coil
Closes round frail anemones, hearts-ease, and rue;
But in some sheltered spots, bright blooms beside,
Pale purple fringëd asters love to hide.