When the Frost Comes

When roses and lilies perish,
And violets fade from the glen,
Then, not till then,
Pale asters and gaudy geraniums we cherish.

When the hope of youth departs,
And ideals fade from our grasp,
Despairing, we clasp
The poor little loves that are left to our hearts.

The flowers of summer died;
Little remains of our spring;
To that we cling,
And sigh, and strive to be satisfied.
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