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.
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