I.
The flower that she gave to me
Has withered now and died--
But yet with fond fidelity
Its faded leaves abide.
II.
The petals that so fragrant then
She wore upon her breast--
Still clinging to the lifeless stem,
With miser care possessed.
III.
As when in sweetest purity
It shed its perfume rare,
A symbol dear 'twill ever be
Of one divinely fair!
IV.
Plucked by the cruel hand of Death
In beauty's youthful bloom--
She perished with his chilling breath,
And withered in the tomb.
V.
But I will cherish ever thus
The token that she gave
When sun-lit skies were over us,
Unclouded by the grave!