I COME to visit thee agen, <br />My little flowerless cyclamen; <br />To touch the hand, almost to press, <br />That cheer’d thee in thy loneliness. <br />What could thy careful guardian find <br />Of thee in form, of me in mind, <br />What is there in us rich or rare, <br />To make us claim a moment’s care? <br />Unworthy to be so carest, <br />We are but withering leaves at best.<br /><br />Walter Savage Landor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-cyclamen/
