Xiv

The Aster

The little vagrant gypsy flower Has blossomed forth again-- Your face against the autumn sky, Your face against the rain.

The fevered youth of summer days Has passed away in tears. The aged winter totters down The pathway of the years.

Yet, nodding, luring, laughing o'er The tired world's pain and scars, Joyous I find between my hands Your face--in aster stars.