I come to visit thee again, My little flowerless cyclamen! To touch the hands, almost to press, That cheer'd thee in thy loneliness. What could those lovely sisters find, Of thee in form, of me in mind, What is there in us rich or rare, To make us worth a moment's care? Unworthy to be so carest, We are but wither'd leaves at best. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOD'S GARDEN by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON ON MY THIRTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO MY NOSE by ALFRED HENRY FORRESTER FROM THE IONIAN ISLANDS by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES CLANCY OF THE MOUNTED POLICE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE |