Forsaken, Poem by Ella W. Ricker

The rose-tree, over the garden wall,
 	With a languid air is swaying;
In wild luxuriance to all
	Her scarlet fruit displaying.

I pause to gather a thorny spray,
	Where the heaviest clusters glisten.
And while my feet a moment stay,
	To her sad reining listen.

"Alas!" she sighs to the roving breeze,
	“I have neither friend or lover,
And even the butterfles and bees 
	No longer about me hover.

“Ah! many there were in sunny June
	My beauty and sweetness praising,
And never a summer afternoon
	But sparkling eyes were gazing.

“They loltered adown the grassy lane–
	Gay lad and blushing maiden,
And hailed me “Queen of the floral train,”
	With buds my boughs were laden.

“Long since, on the mossy sward be
Death.
	Have my petals fair been lying;
They fell, as the snow-flake's fleecy
	wreath,
On the wind's wild pinions flying.

“But I smiled. as they sought their
	lowly bed,
In my heart a secret holding,
‘ These are only the buds of hope' I said,
	I will wait the full unfolding.

	“Lo over the hills, like banners gay,
	Streams autumn's leafy splendor,
And summer has sighed her life away,
	In breezes soft and tender.

	“I stand. at last, with my ripened fruit
	In full perfection shining;
But the voices long to hear are mute,
	And the day light is declining."