DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
27 
TIIE BROKEN FLOWER. 
1TRS. HE5IANS. 
0, wear it on thy heart, my love! 
Still, still a little while! 
Sweetness is lingering in its leaves, 
Though faded be their smile. 
Yet, for the sake of what hath been, 
O, cast it not away! 
’T was born to grace a summer scene, 
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: — 
0, I am like thy broken flower, 
Cherished too late, too late. 
Ye are the stare of earth, — and dear to me 
Is each small twinkling gem, that wanders free, 
’Mid glade or woodland, or by murmuring stream. 
Miss Twamley. 
