by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Nay, fling not down those faded flowers,
Too late they're scattered round;
And violet and rose-leaf lie
Together on the ground.
How carefully this very morn
Those buds were culled and wreathed,
And, 'mid the cloud of that dark hair,
How sweet a sigh they breathed!
And many a gentle word was said
Above their morning dye,
How that the rose had touched thy cheek,
The violet thine eye.
Methinks, if but for memory,
I should have kept these flowers;
Ah! all too lightly does thy heart
Dwell upon vanished hours.
Already has thine eager hand
Stripped yonder rose-hung bough;
The wreath that bound thy raven curls
Thy feet are on it now.
That glancing smile, it seems to say
Thou art too fanciful;
What matters it what roses fade,
While there are more to cull!
Ay, I was wrong to ask of thee
Such gloomy thoughts as mine:
Thou in thy Spring, how shouldst thou dream
Of Autumn's pale decline?
Young, lovely, loved, -- O! far from thee
Life's after-dearth and doom;
Long ere thou learn how memory clings
To even faded bloom!
Source:The Poetical Works Of Miss Landon
Phillips, Sampson, And Co.
110 Washington Street