Letitia Elizabeth Landon

“ 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. ”