The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.
Who sows a field, or trains a flower, Or plants at tree, is more than all.
The garden rose may richly bloom In cultured soil and genial air, To cloud the light of Fashion's room Or droop in Beauty's midnight hair, In lonelier grace, to sun and dew The sweetbrier on the hillside shows Its single leaf and fainter hue, Untrained and wildly free, yet still a sister rose!
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