 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Torn Flower
I tore thee—thou who looked so sweet,
And shed thy fragrance at my feet;
I tore thee in my wrath;
Scattered thy sweetness to the wind,
Nor left one look of love behind
To smile upon my path.
And shed thy fragrance at my feet;
I tore thee in my wrath;
Scattered thy sweetness to the wind,
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To smile upon my path.
I mourn too late! Ah! ne'er again
Shall visit thee the small-dropped rain,
The gently falling dew;
Nor morn, nor noon, nor eve's still hour
Shall watch the spot, ill-fated flower!
Where once thy beauty grew.
Shall visit thee the small-dropped rain,
The gently falling dew;
Nor morn, nor noon, nor eve's still hour
Shall watch the spot, ill-fated flower!
Where once thy beauty grew.
The storms that filled the troubled sky
Have lightly passed thy shelter by,
Pleased with thy sweet perfume;
More cruel than the angry blast
I madly crushed thee as I past,
And robbed thee of thy bloom.
Have lightly passed thy shelter by,
Pleased with thy sweet perfume;
More cruel than the angry blast
I madly crushed thee as I past,
And robbed thee of thy bloom.
Would that the tears I o'er thee shed
Might raise again thy drooping head
To life and joy once more;
Then would I learn me of the storm
To spare thy bright and tender form,
My heart's mad passion tore.
Might raise again thy drooping head
To life and joy once more;
Then would I learn me of the storm
To spare thy bright and tender form,
My heart's mad passion tore.
Poem No. 278; 1836?
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