You ask me, why with so much care
This little faded flow’r I wear
Its vivid bloom you say is gone,
Of perfume once so sweet there’s none
I cherish it like thing that’s rare
And still that faded flow’r I wear.
This wither’d flow’r that you despise,
Is fairer, dearer to my eyes
Than is the gayest flow’r that blows;
That in the pride of beauty flows.
Then marvel not that I with care,
This little faded flow’r should wear.
So dear the hand that gave the flow’r,
So sweet the mem’ry of the hour,
The voice such music to mine ear,
Which bade me take it to my care,
That while this little flow’r shall last
’Twill whisper me of joy that’s past!
Elia Jan^ry 2nd^ 1811