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