The odor from the flower is gone
Which like thy kisses breathed on me;
The color from the flower is flown
Which glowed of thee and only thee!
A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandoned breast;
And mocks the heart, which yet is warm,
With cold and silent rest.
I weep--my tears revive it not;
I sigh--it breathes no more on me:
Its mute and uncomplaining lot
Is such as mine should be.
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
Top Percy Bysshe Shelley Poems
Analysis and Comments on On A Dead Violet
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem On A Dead Violet here.
Commenting has been disabled for now.