On a Faded Violet کے بول

Colour from flowers gone Which like sweet eves smiled on me The odour from flowers flow Which breathe of only thee A withered vacant form It lies on my abandoned breast And mocks the heart which yet is warm With cold and silent rest I weep, my tears revive it not I sigh, it breathes no more on me Its mute and uncomplaining lot Is such as mine should be Colour from flowers gone Which like sweet eves smiled on me The odour from flowers flow Which breathe of only thee A withered vacant form It lies on my abandoned breast And mocks the heart which yet is warm With cold and silent rest I weep, my tears revive it not I sigh, it breathes no more on me Its mute and uncomplaining lot Is such as mine should be