On A Faded Violet (Die Verbannten Kinder Evas)

The colour from the flower is gone, Which like thy sweet eves smiled on me The odour from the flower is flow, Which breath of thee and only thee A withered, lifeless, 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