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Show September. The memory of a sunlit summer lingers Upon the mould'ring mansion, quaint and gray; Time touches tenderly with wearied fingers fin-gers The clinging ivy which It kissed in May. hear the frightened whispering of flow- ers: A robin flies across the sullen sky; And oh, the leaves are falling in the bowers Where we forgot that sunlit days must die! AJas! that from our eyes, by angels blinded. ' The world should brush the glamor Heaven-sent ! I fain would dream, and never be reminded re-minded That youth must vanish-happiness be spent. It is, you know, the oft repeated story; We dream our dream, and wake to find life real; Some to despair; some to a short-lived glory. How few, alas! to find a hoped ideal , Felix N. Gerson in "Some Verses.''- |