[HAWKWEED.]
By LIZZIE DEAS.
Somehow these flowers that late in autumn show,
So very rich a glow,
In summer seem to make but poor display,
There are so many flowers more beautiful than they.
I can but think that through the sunlit hours,
These golden-petaled flowers,
With no attempt to shine while earth is bright,
Are yet at work for us absorbing warmth and light.
Of this I'm sure, they do but hide their store
Till we shall need it more;
For see, as summer wanes, what beauty lies—
What consolation, too, within their sun-filled eyes.
Some lovely souls there are that, like these flowers,
Shine least in brightest hours;
Only when shadows fall we learn to know
The beauty they possess, the sunshine they bestow.
