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...I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A REAL HARD TIME BEFORE' by HAYDEN CARRUTH BURNING DAWN by HAYDEN CARRUTH PARAGRAPHS: 15 by HAYDEN CARRUTH EVENTIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON GOSSAMER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DIPPOLD THE OPTICIAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |