If Thou Hast Crush'd a Flower

If thou hast crush’d a flower,
The root may not be blighted;
If thou hast quench’d a lamp,
Once more it may be lighted:
But on thy harp, or on thy lute,
The string which thou hast broken
Shall never in sweet sound again
Give to thy touch a token!

If thou hast loosed a bird
Whose voice of song could cheer thee,
Still, still he may be won
From the skies to warble near thee:
But if upon the troubled sea
Thou hast thrown a gem unheeded,
Hope not that wind or wave will bring
The treasure back when needed.

If thou hast bruised a vine,
The summer’s breath is healing,
And its clusters yet may glow
Through the leaves their bloom revealing:
But if thou hast a cup o’erthrown
With a bright draught fill’d--oh! never
Shall earth give back that lavish’d wealth
To cool thy parch’d lip’s fever!

The heart is like that cup,
If thou waste the love it bore thee;
And like that jewel gone,
Which the deep will not restore thee;
And like that string of harp or lute
Whence the sweet sound is scatter’d,--
Gently, oh! gently touch the chords,
So soon for ever shatter’d!