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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLIND BOY by COLLEY CIBBER IN THE SHADOWS: MY EPITAPH by DAVID GRAY (1838-1861) THE END OF THE EPISODE by THOMAS HARDY OVERTONES by WILLIAM ALEXANDER PERCY BOTHWELL: PART 2 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE MESSENGER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET RARE INTERVALS by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN A SWEET CONTENTION BETWEEN LOVE, HIS MISTRESS, AND BEAUTY by NICHOLAS BRETON |