IN my Autumn garden I was fain
To mourn among my scattered roses ;
Alas for that last rosebud which uncloses
To Autumn's languid sun and rain
When all the world is on the wane !
Which has not felt the sweet constraint of June,
Nor heard the nightingale in tune.
Broad-faced asters by my garden walk,
You are but coarse compared with roses :
More choice, more dear that rosebud which uncloses
Faint-scented, pinched, upon its stalk,
That least and last which cold winds balk ;
A rose it is though least and last of all,
A rose to me though at the fall.