5. Withering
Fade, tender lily,
Fade, O crimson rose,
Fade every flower,
Sweetest flower that blows.
Go, chilly autumn,
Come, O winter cold;
Let the green stalks die away
Into common mould.
Birth follows hard on death,
Life on withering:
Hasten, we will come the sooner
Back to pleasant spring.
Christina Rosetti
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