Colour from flowers gone
Which like sweet eves smiled on me
The odour from flowers flow
Which breathe of only thee

A withered 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

Colour from flowers gone
Which like sweet eves smiled on me
The odour from flowers flow
Which breathe of only thee

A withered 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