Ellen Clementine Howarth

"'T is but a little faded flower, But oh, how fondly dear! 'T will bring me back one golden hour, Through many a weary year."

"Who hath not saved some trifling thing More prized than jewels rare, A faded flower, a broken ring, A tress of golden hair."

"Where is the heart that doth not keep, Within its inmost core, Some fond remembrance hidden deep, Of days that are no more?"