(1795-1820 / United States)

To A Lady With A Withered Violet

THOUGH fate upon this faded flower
His withering hand has laid,
Its odour'd breath defies his power,
Its sweets are undecayed.

And thus, although thy warbled strains
No longer wildly thrill,
The memory of the song remains,
Its soul is with me still.

User Rating: 2,6 / 5 ( 12 votes )

Other poems of DRAKE (26)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.