Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.

The Death of the Flowers.

And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.

The Death of the Flowers.

Loveliest of lovely things are they

On earth that soonest pass away.

The rose that lives its little hour

Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.

A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson.

The victory of endurance born.