Classic Poem

Chrysanthemum!
The season's latest trophy, thee we hail
With rapturous ecstasy. Thy many tints
Are varied as the rainbow's beauteous hues;
Or, as the glowing sky at break of day,
In morning splendour wrapt. Can aught excel
Thy pure and snowy blossoms, wondrous fair,
And those bright golden gems so freely poured
Upon us by the Autumn's brilliant sun,
Assisted by a frequent copious shower
Of soft refreshing rain? Thy purple blooms
Could vie with any ancient regal robes
Of solemn grandeur and of sumptuous state;
Or with the vaporous mantle which enfolds
The hills when morning dawns. Thy crimson flowers
Can only be compared with sunset's glow
And the deep lustre of the ruby fair
Caught by a passing ray of glittering light
Or golden sunbeam. All our flowers are sweet,
But none more dear than thee, Chrysanthemum,
Blooming when they are faded, when the wind
Plays ruthlessly among the coloured balls,
Tossing them here and there with fierce, rough glee,
Yet adding to their strength. But words are vain
To speak of all thy brilliant lights and shades.
The glowing picture of the garden, gay
With thy bright blossoms, numberless and rare,
Is ever better seen than thus described.
Farewell, we whisper. While the wild wind blows
Bloom on in hardy beauty, lovely strength,
Our latest autumn star, Chrysanthemum.