Serena
And seek in vain the flower they plucked unheeding,
And scorn with mild derision
The roses where the happy bees are feeding
Or lily-beds Elysian.
O undiscovered blossom, slight and wan, set
So deep in forest closes.
Be mine, who ever, as thou know'st,
The least apparent loved the most:
Low music at the first faint-breathing onset.
The summer when it closes,
The silvery moonrise better than the sunset.
And thee than autumn roses!
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