Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1824.pdf/59

58 Literary Gazette, 26th June, 1824, Page 411

ORIGINAL POETRY. THE WITHERED FLOWERS. There is a white Vase in my hall, The sweetest, the saddest, the dearest of all; ‘Tis a Grecian vase, and was brought by thee From the shores of sunny Italy. Well I remember the fanciful things That floated in light imaginings, Of the Nymph that was wont to bear The showy urn on her raven hair To a fountain near; and then to shed The fresh cool wave o'er some rose's head. Its use is changed, tis now filled to the brim With roses, whose colours are faded and dim— With violet leaves, which have not a shade Of the purple in which they were once arrayed. Yet not a flower has faded there, That graced not my bosom, or bound not my hair; Every one was gathered by thee, In the light of their April revelrie.— Their blush is departed—yet feel how sweet, As you lean o'er the vase, is the air that you meet! And is not this Love, tho' the glories may fall Of the light of his earlier coronal? How sweet a memory lingers still, Mid wreck and mid ruin, mid sorrow and ill! Love's wings may pass, but still they fling A scent from the flowers that bind each wing; And I, tho' wronged and slighted, yet Have been too happy to quite forget:— I hang o'er my thoughts, as I hang o'er these flowers, And think what they have been in summer hours. Farewell to love, and farewell to thee— But not farewell to your memory!