Dwelling amidst these yellowing bowers:
To himself he talks;
For at eventide, listening earnestly,
At his work you may hear him sob and sigh,
In the walks;
Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks of the moldering flowers;
Heavily hangs the broad sun-flower
O’er its grave, the earth so chilly;
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.