THE BROKEN FLOWER. 
51 
THE BROKEN FLOWER. 
Oh i wear h on thy heart, my love ! 
Stili, still a little while ! 
Sweetness is lingering in its leaves, 
Though faded be their smile. 
Yet, for the sake of what hath been, 
Oh ! cast it not away ! 
’Twas born to grace a summer scene, 
A long, bright, golden day, 
My love, 
A long, bright, golden day ! 
A little while around thee, love ! 
Its fragrance yet shall cling, 
•Telling that on thy heart hath lain, 
A fair though faded thing. 
But not even that warm heart hath power 
To win it back from fate:— 
Oh ! Iam like thy broken flower. 
Cherish’d too late, too late, 
My love ! 
Cherish’d, alas ! too late ! 
—Mrs. II MW an s. 
