When the brown birds take flight and hot summer is over, 
When leaves fall fluttering down from the trees, 
When the sweet flowers fade, and the bee, wanton rover, 
Safe hid at home takes his honey- fed ease ; 
Then comes all alone, and unmindful of summer, 
The stanch purple aster, with goodliest cheer ; 
And blithe is the heart of the sturdy late comer 
That blooms all alone in the bleak of the year. 

With its messages brave all the lorn meadows cheering, 
It lifts its chalices up to the sky ; 
As in promises sure that the chill winter nearing, 
Must yield its sway to the spring by-and-by. 
Its heart is of gold, and sweet faith is the burden 
Its blossoming teaches when hope seems to flee ; 
Small love or reward does it win as its guerdon, 
Yet fails not its cheer though the skies clouded be. 

When the shrill, merry horn of the hunter is sounding, 
And hounds are baying from valley to hill ; 
When the hot, panting stag in his flight hurries bounding, 
While speeds the hunt with a turbulent will ; 
Then the frosts come at night, and the aster drops slowly 
Its pale, purple petals, like flakes, one by one ; 
Till all its brave beauty lies scattered and lowly, 
And shrivels to dust 'neath the cold autumn sun.