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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.



Albert Laighton


Albert Laighton's other poems:
  1. My Native River
  2. The Two Worlds
  3. Joe
  4. To J. G. W.
  5. Under the Leaves


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