There, fanned by the zephyr, and woo’d by the bee,
Thou mightst rival thy fair sister buds of the spring.
Thou remindest me much, oh! thou poor blighted flower,
Of a fair human blossom, I met on life’s way;
She struggled and liv’d through dark Destiny’s hour,
But like thine, has her young bloom all wilted away.
In life’s rugged pathway, it is not the bright,
Lovely blossoms of beauty that soonest depart,
Far more do I grieve how soon sullies the light,
The pure and untainted,—the bloom of the heart.