Dead Flowers
A tuft of mignonette, a withered rose!
Numberless foolish hearts have treasured such.
Now, as I lift them from their long repose,
They turn to dust and crumble at a touch —
Poor flowers that meant so much!
They meant — pure love and limitless belief
In summer's faithfulness, in sunny skies:
They mean — one lonely pang of silent grief,
Just one true tear that in a moment dries,
For even sorrow dies.
So with the millions who have hoarded flowers:
The frail love-token lasts, the heart's love goes.
Man's vaunted strength and woman's boasted powers
Are more ephemeral even than the rose,
The frailest flower that blows!
A withered rose, a tuft of mignonette —
How passing weak must be the human heart,
For these outlive even love, outlast regret,
Abide even when grim pain, with blunted dart,
Makes ready to depart.
Numberless foolish hearts have treasured such.
Now, as I lift them from their long repose,
They turn to dust and crumble at a touch —
Poor flowers that meant so much!
They meant — pure love and limitless belief
In summer's faithfulness, in sunny skies:
They mean — one lonely pang of silent grief,
Just one true tear that in a moment dries,
For even sorrow dies.
So with the millions who have hoarded flowers:
The frail love-token lasts, the heart's love goes.
Man's vaunted strength and woman's boasted powers
Are more ephemeral even than the rose,
The frailest flower that blows!
A withered rose, a tuft of mignonette —
How passing weak must be the human heart,
For these outlive even love, outlast regret,
Abide even when grim pain, with blunted dart,
Makes ready to depart.
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