Dora Sigerson Shorter

Ireland
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A Lost Flower

Droop all the flowers in my garden,
All their fair heads hang low;
For rose, their fairest companion,
Never again will they know.
Bring me no flowers for wearing,
Take these strange buds away,
For I cannot now have the fairest—
My rose that has died to-day.
What has blighted my blossom?
Stricken it down with death,
Over the walls of my garden,
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