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.