BIANAAH. hT q. Ii. WILDE.
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My lifs Is Ike the summer rosei That opens to the morning sky But ere the shades of evening close, Is soatter'd on the ground 10 die; Yel. on that roses humbe bed, The sweelest dews of night are shad, As iffIeaVen wept such waste to see- But none will shed tear for me.

 II. My life is like the autumn leaf, That trembles in the moons pale ray, It's hold Is ffail, it's stay is brief Restless, and soon To pass away; Yet, ere thatleaf sha l fall or lade, Tho parent tree shall mourn it's shade, I he winds bewail the ledhess tree But none shall breathe sigh for me.

 III. My life is like the print that feet, Have Jeff on Zara's [TampasI desert strandi Soon as the rising tide shaH heat, Tho track shall vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieyiuP to efface All veslge ofthe human race, On that lone shore loud mouTns the sea- But noae shall e'er lament for mo.