Poem by Albert Laighton

A Passing Thought

THE violets are dead,
And faded is the rose;
The autumn leaves are shed;
High drift the winter snows,
And no flower blows.

Oh, why complain, sad soul?
Life may be verdure-crowned,
Howe'er the seasons roll;
And Love's sweet flower be found
The whole year round.

1. Joe
2. My Native River
3. The Two Worlds
4. To J. G. W.
5. Under the Leaves

Print

1234 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version