_A Song_ <br /> <br />Poor withered rose, she gave it me, <br />Half in revenge and half in glee; <br />Its petals not so pink by half <br />As are her lips when curled to laugh, <br />As are her cheeks when dimples gay <br />In merry mischief o'er them play. <br /> <br />_Chorus_ <br /> <br />Forgive, forgive, it seems unkind <br />To cast thy petals to the wind; <br />But it is right, and lest I err <br />So scatter I all thought of her. <br /> <br />Poor withered rose, so like my heart, <br />That wilts at sorrow's cruel dart. <br />Who hath not felt the winter's blight <br />When every hope seemed warm and bright? <br />Who doth not know love unreturned, <br />E'en when the heart most wildly burned? <br /> <br />Poor withered rose, thou liest dead; <br />Too soon thy beauty's bloom hath fled. <br />'Tis not without a tearful ruth <br />I watch decay thy blushing youth; <br />And though thy life goes out in dole, <br />Thy perfume lingers in my soul.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poor-withered-rose/
