html website builder

O golden rod! sweet golden rod!
Bride of the autumn sun;
Has he kissed thy blossoms this mellow morn
And tinged them one by one?


Did the crickets sing at thy christening,
When, in his warm embrace,
He gave thee love from his brimming cup,
And beauty, cheer, and grace?


He brightens the asters, but soon they fade;
He reddens the sumach tree;
The clematis loses its snowy bloom,
But he's true as truth to thee.


Scattered on mountain top or plain,
Unseen by human eye,
He turns thy fringes to burnished gold
By love's sweet alchemy.


And then, when the chill November comes,
And the flowers their work have done,
Thou art still unchanged, dear golden rod,
Bride of the autumn sun!