Explore "The Last Flower" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O golden-rod, well-worshipped of the sun!
Where else hath Summer tarried save in thee?
This meadow is a barren thing to see, / For here the reapers' toil is over and done.
Of all her many birds there is but one / Left to assail the last wild raspberry; / The buttercups and daisies withered be, / And yet thy reign hath only now begun.
O sign of power and sway imperial!
O sceptre thrust into the hands of Fall / By Summer ere Earth forget her soft foot's tread!
O woman-flower, for love of thee, alas, / Even the trees have let their glory pass, / And now with thy gold hair are garlanded!