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[Marie]

Scott, Duncan Campbell (1862-1947)
THE sunset in the rosy west
Burned soft and high;
A shore-lark fell like a stone to his nest
In the waving rye.

A wind came over the garden beds
From the dreamy lawn,
The pansies nodded their purple heads,
The poppies began to yawn.

One pansy said, "It is only sleep,
Only his gentle breath";
But a rose lay strewn in a snowy heap,
For the rose it was only death.

Heigho! we've only one life to live,
And only one death to die:
Good-morrow, new world! have you nothing
to give?
Good-bye, old world--good-bye!



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