From The Washington Herald, October 13, 1912.
By George Sands Johnson.
There are no blossoms left to tell
The happy days of Spring!
While parting anthems of farewell
Through haunted chambers ring.
Amid vast shrines where ages dwell
In peace and joy, unseen,
Deep voices of glad visions well
And sparkle through the green.
Sweet memory of joyous hours
That charm the backward gaze,
Clusters around the folded flowers,
Still gleam through autumn haze.
And as the summer passes by,
Where autumn’s shadows brood,
Gray specters of dead beauty sigh
In solemn solitude.
How fleet and strange is fate and time!
As life is swept along
Through seasons dreary and sublime
To join the vanished throng.