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Changelings
MTH (1844-1941 / USA)

Changelings

Poem By Mary Thacher Higginson

THE ghosts of flowers went sailing
Through the dreamy autumn air,--
The gossamer wings of the milkweed brown,
And the sheeny silk of the thistle-down;
But there was no bewailing,
And never a hint of despair.

From the mountain-ash was swinging
A gray, deserted nest;
Scarlet berries where eggs had been;
Softly the flower-wraiths floated in:
And the brook and the breeze were singing
When the sun sank down in the west.

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