I.
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!
II.
A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandoned breast,
And mocks the heart which yet is warm,
With cold and silent rest.
III.
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.
