On a Faded Violet
The odour from the flower is goneWhich like thy kisses breathed on me;The colour from the flower is flownWhich glowed of thee and only thee!
A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,It lies on my abandoned breast,And mocks the heart which yet is warm,With cold and silent rest.
I weep,--my tears revive it not!I sigh,--it breathes no more on me;Its mute and uncomplaining lotIs such as mine should be.
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