The blossom sere hangs on the tree, The bud was plucked too soon, -- Nor will it know a singing night, That only graced a sunny noon. To dimming eyes the stars grow dim, And chill the lone night grows; Why does God leave the withered flower, And take the half-blown rose? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EXTRACTS FROM AN OPERA: 2. DAISY'S SONG by JOHN KEATS SATIRES: 51. UPON NOTHING by JOHN WILMOT CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 7. OF HOSPITALITY by WILLIAM BASSE THE LAST RACE by ERNEST HAROLD BAYNES ON THE VIRGINITY OF THE VIRGIN MARY AND JOHANNA SOUTHCOTT by WILLIAM BLAKE THIRD REUNION POEM by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE RED COTTON NIGHT-CAP COUNTRY; OR, TURF AND TOWERS: PART 4 by ROBERT BROWNING |