Classic Poem

The flower you gave me is faded,
And the vows that you breathed were untrue;
The bosom whose peace you've invaded,
Still sighs—but it sighs not for you!
'Twas the semblance of honour that won me,
Not the wretch in that semblance array'd;
Now your spells have no power upon me,
For I've found that I worshipp'd a shade.

Could the tears I have shed on this flower
Its fragrance and beauty renew,
I might hope that repentance hath power
To alter—to purify you:
But alas! it is wither'd forever,
No art can its sweetness restore;
And the name of its giver will never
Be unsullied and dear as before.