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On a Faded Violet

Percy Shelley


The odour from the flower is gone

Which like thy kisses breathed on me;

The colour from the flower is flown

Which glowed of thee and only thee !

A shrivelled, lifeless, 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.


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