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As flowers when gathered fade and die.
So fade the flowers of poesy,
Whose blossoms in this volume lie.
*      *      * *
Poor pretty petals crushed between
Forgotten pages ! Here are seen
The brittle veins of eglantine.
And here, a withered violet.
Look ! These are pansies that were set
Alternately with mignonette.
In some small border's scanty loam ;
And these were cherry, or the foam
Of apple blossom.   Ye that come
With eyes to peep where they are pent
Within, or nose to catch the scent
Of last year's rose or lily blent
With honeysuckle, pass not by
Without the guerdon of a sigh
For these poor flowers condemned to die.

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