Page:The Romance of Nature; or, The Flower-Seasons Illustrated.djvu/221

123 Bent their small heads in every breeze which strayed

From lawny sunshine to the woodland's shade.

And there they bud, and bloom, and close, and die,

In solitude.

Their lives are brief, but calm.—Alas! that I,

Not grief-subdued,

But innocently gay, as these small flowers,

In like retreat might pass my future hours!