Chapter 16 of 20
TO A LADY with a withered violet.
The Culprit Fay, and Other Poems · Joseph Rodman Drake
Though fate upon this faded flower
His withering hand has laid,
Its odour’d breath defies his power,
Its sweets are undecayed.
And thus, although thy warbled strains
No longer wildly thrill,
The memory of the song remains,
Its soul is with me still.