Coming when the songs have ceased

And the merry guests departed,

Leaving but an empty room,

Silence, solitude, and gloom,—

Are you lonely, heavy-hearted;

You, the last of all your kind,

Nodding in the autumn-wind;

Now that all your friends are flown,

Blooming late and all alone?

 Nay, I wrong you, little flower, Reading mournful mood of mine In your looks, that give no sign Of a spirit dark and cheerless! You possess the heavenly power That rejoices in the hour. Glad, contented, free, and fearless, Lift a sunny face to heaven When a sunny day is given! Make a summer of your own, Blooming late and all alone!

Nay, I wrong you, little flower,

Reading mournful mood of mine

In your looks, that give no sign

Of a spirit dark and cheerless!

You possess the heavenly power

That rejoices in the hour.

Glad, contented, free, and fearless,

Lift a sunny face to heaven

When a sunny day is given!

Make a summer of your own,

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