The Faded Flower

Ungrateful he, who pluck'd thee from thy stalk,

Poor faded flow'ret! on his careless way;

Inhal'd awhile thy odours on his walk,

Then onward pass'd and left thee to decay.

Ah! melancholy emblem! had I

Thy modest beauties dew'd with Evening's gem,

I had not rudely cropp'd thy parent stem,

But left thee, blushing, 'mid the enliven'd green.

And now I bend me o'er thy wither'd bloom,

And drop the tear - as Fancy, at my side,

Deep-sighing, points the fair frail Abra's tomb -'Like thine, sad Flower, was that poor wanderer's pride!

Oh! lost to Love and Truth, whose selfish

Tasted her vernal sweets, but tasted to destroy!'