The odor from the flower is gone <br /> Which like thy kisses breathed on me; <br />The color from the flower is flown <br /> Which glowed of thee and only thee! <br /> <br />A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form, <br /> It lies on my abandoned breast; <br />And mocks the heart, which yet is warm, <br /> With cold and silent rest. <br /> <br />I weep--my tears revive it not; <br /> I sigh--it breathes no more on me: <br />Its mute and uncomplaining lot <br /> Is such as mine should be.<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-dead-violet/
