Follow Thou Thy Choice.

Or, Bide Thou Where The Poppy Blows With Windflowers Fail And Fair.

So They, Who Climb To Wealth, Forget The Friends In Darker Fortunes Tried. I Copied Them--but I Regret That I Should Ape The Ways Of Pride.

The Moon Is At Her Full, And Riding High, Floods The Calm Fields With Light. The Airs That Hover In The Summer Sky Are All Asleep To-night.

The Summer Day Is Closed - The Sun Is Set: Well They Have Done Their Office, Those Bright Hours, The Latest Of Whose Train Goes Softly Out In The Red West. The Green Blade Of The Ground Has Risen, And Herds Have Cropped It; The Young Twig Has Spread Its Plaited Tissues To The Sun; Flowers Of The Garden And The Waste Have Blown And Withered; Seeds Have Fallen Upon The Soil, From Bursting Cells, And In Their Graves Await Their Resurrection. Insects From The Pools Have Filled The Air Awhile With Humming Wings, That Now Are Still For Ever; Painted Moths Have Wandered The Blue Sky, And Died Again

Alas! To Seize The Moment When The Heart Inclines To Heart, And Press A Suit With Passion, Is Not A Woman's Part. If Man Come Not To Gather The Roses Where They Stand, They Fade Among Their Foliage, They Cannot Seek His Hand.