Classic Poem

Poor broken flower! what art can now recover thee?
Torn from the stem that fed thy rosy breath—
In vain the sunbeams seek
To warm that faded cheek;
The dews of heaven, that once like balm fell over thee,
Now are but tears, to weep thy early death.

So droops the maid whose lover hath forsaken her,—
Thrown from his arms, as lone and lost as thou;
In vain the smiles of all
Like sunbeams round her fall:
The only smile that could from death awaken her,
That smile, alas! is gone to others now.