| On a Faded Violet |
|---|
| The colour from the flower is gone |
| Which like thy sweet eves smiled on me |
| The odour from the flower is flow |
| Which breath of thee and only thee |
| A withered, 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 lot |
| Is such as mine should be |
