What do the roses do, mother,
Now that the summer's done?
They lie in the bed that is hung with red
And dream about the sun.
What do the lilies do, mother,
Now that there's no more June?
Each one lies down in her white nightgown
And dreams about the moon.
What can I dream of, mother,
With the moon and the sun away?
Of a rose unborn, of an untried thorn,
And a lily that lives a day!
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Comments about this poem (Questions by Edith Nesbit )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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