AUTUMN LEAVES.
The sunny hours of Bummer's bloom Have faded all away, The fairest, sweetest of the flowers Are withered to decay; And rustling from the tall old trees, With quiet, mournful sound, The autumn's ever-changing leaves Fall thickly to the ground. Fall softly o'er a new-made grave, In gold and crimson Bhowers — The quiet resting-place of one Who perished with tho flowers. For ever from the children's meals Her chair apart will be, Each childish trick aud winsome way We never more shall see. How often from my troubled Bleep I wake, and start with pain ; Oh ! thut these arms for one short hour Could fold thee close again. They toll mo that her spirit dwells In roulms of purer air; But oh! my lost, my little oue, I mits thee everywhere, Aud, though the red leaves gontly fall upon thy narrow bed, It seems within mine aching heart, I cannot think thee dead. —"Elza."
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/EP18950817.2.56
Bibliographic details
Evening Post, Volume L, Issue 42, 17 August 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)
Word Count
156AUTUMN LEAVES. Evening Post, Volume L, Issue 42, 17 August 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)
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