Constitutional Whig

BROKEN HEART.

There is a flower that scorns to shed
Its bloom where every eye may rove;
It coldly seeks some lonely bed
And wastes the perfume all must love

That flower, tho' cold it seemed to all
Yet once, tis said, in earlier hours,
(Ere hapless man had learned to fall)
It was the brightest, best of flowers.

Then why so lonely should it be?
Why bloom to waste that bloom away?
And not resort to youth and glee,
As other flowers, why not as gay.

Why cold and sullen on yonder height,
Thus live in sadness, all alone?
Or, only seem to smile at night,
When genial gloom is around it thrown

Tho' cold and lone, that flower feels more
Than all that dwells in bower of art,
By unrequited feeling torn,
The emblem of a BROKEN HEART.