The purple asters bloom in crowds
In every shady nook,
And ladies' eardrops deck the banks
Of many a babbling brook.
_Autumn_. E.G. EASTMAN.
Graceful, tossing plume of glowing gold,
Waving lonely on the rocky ledge;
Leaning seaward, lovely to behold,
Clinging to the high cliff's ragged edge.
_Seaside Goldenrod_. C. THAXTER.
The aster greets us as we pass
With her faint smile.
_A Day of Indian Summer_. S.H.P. WHITMAN.
Along the river's summer walk,
The withered tufts of asters nod;
And trembles on its arid stalk
The hoar plume of the golden-rod.
And on a ground of sombre fir,
And azure-studded juniper,
The silver birch its buds of purple shows,
And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose!
_Last Walk in Autumn_. J.G. WHITTIER.