The Withered Rose

GO, Fading Rose, a Present to my Fair,
To whose ungrateful Breast I gave my Heart,
And thô my Grief could ne'er affect her Care,
To her do thou my dying Mind impart.

I late have seen thee Lovely, Sweet, and Gay,
Perchance the influence of her Looks on thee,
Now pale as Death, thy Beauty's gone away;
Thou art the Emblem of my Misery.

Say, if to cast an Eye on thee she deign,
Since no Relief from her my Life receives;
My Body soon as Bloodless will remain,
As thy once fresh, but now decaying Leaves.

And thou perchance the Benefit may'st find,
For thy pale Looks and Message understood,
To cure thy dying Spoils she may be kind,
With Water of my Tears, or with my Blood.