By Amos Russel Wells

The shattered rose has fallen to the floor
In shelly loveliness. The carpet’s green
Forms a new turf, and in that lower scene
Each petal blossoms as a flower once more.
How light it lies as having wings to soar,
A curve of pink! And how its gentle mien,
The soft, rich fulness of its tender sheen,

Surpass the clustered rose we knew before!
Oh, not in labor’s summer-bloom of pride
Does life its crowning loveliness disclose.
Sweeter the lights in autumn days that hide,
And tender age a morning beauty shows.
Scatter life’s broken petals far and wide:
Each is a newer and a lovelier rose.

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