HOW will it be when the roses fade 

  Out of the garden and out of the glade? 

When the fresh pink bloom of the sweet-brier wild, 

That leans from the dell like the cheek of a child, 

Is changed for dry hips on a thorny bush! 

Then, scarlet and carmine, the groves will flush.

How will it be when the autumn flowers 

Wither away from their leafless bowers; 

When sunflower and starflower and golden-rod 

Glimmer no more from the frosted sod, 

And the hillside nooks are empty and cold?

Then the forest tops will be gay with gold.

How will it be when the woods turn brown, 

Their gold and their crimson all dropped down, 

And crumbled to dust! 

Oh, then, as we lay

Our ear to Earth's lips, we shall hear her say, 

"In the dark I am seeking new gems for my crown" 

We will dream of green leaves when, the woods turn brown.

Lucy Larcom