The fair flower smiled on my tireless way,
I paused to kiss it in summer’s day,
That when the storm in its strength swept by
It might not be torn from its covert nigh;
I bear its hues on my shining wing,
Its fragrance and light around me cling.
III.
I passed the brow that had learned to wear
The crown of sorrow—the silver hair;
Weary and faint with the woes of life,