  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! |
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