Pretty, slender golden‑rod,
Like a flame of light,
On the quiet, lonely way,
Glows your torch so bright.
With your glorious golden staff,
Gay in autumn hours,
Now you lead to wintry rest,
All the lovely flowers.
Cheering with a joyous face,
All that pass you by,
How you light the meadows round,
With your head so high.
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