Home  »  A Library of American Literature  »  ’Tis But a Little Faded Flower

Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889

’Tis But a Little Faded Flower

By Ellen Clementine Howarth (1827–1899)

[Born in Cooperstown, N. Y., 1827. Died in Trenton, N. J., 1899.]

THIS but a little faded flower,

But oh, how fondly dear!

’Twill bring me back one golden hour,

Through many a weary year.

I may not to the world impart

The secret of its power,

But treasured in my inmost heart,

I keep my faded flower.

Where is the heart that doth not keep,

Within its inmost core,

Some fond remembrance, hidden deep,

Of days that are no more?

Who hath not saved some trifling thing

More prized than jewels rare—

A faded flower, a broken ring,

A tress of golden hair?