On a Faded Violet

The odour from the flower is gone

      Which like thy kisses breathed on me;

The colour from the flower is flown

      Which 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 lot

      Is such as mine should be.