Edmund Clarence Stedman

On White Carnations Given Me for My Birthday

Exquisite tufts of perfume and of light,
⁠⁠⁠	Fair gift of Summer unto Autumn borne,
Were but the years ye calendar as white,
⁠⁠⁠	As sweet, as you, Age could not be forlorn.


Yet, beauteous symbols of my only gain—
⁠⁠	⁠Love, portioned from your givers' envied share,
Honor, whose laurel at their feet hath lain—
⁠⁠⁠	Make me this night of Life's waste unaware!