| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 615. A Sigh |
| | | By Harriet Prescott Spofford |
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| IT was nothing but a rose I gave her,— | |
| Nothing but a rose | |
| Any wind might rob of half its savor, | |
| Any wind that blows. | |
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| When she took it from my trembling fingers | 5 |
| With a hand as chill,— | |
| Ah, the flying touch upon them lingers, | |
| Stays, and thrills them still! | |
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| Withered, faded, pressed between the pages, | |
| Crumpled fold on fold,— | 10 |
| Once it lay upon her breast, and ages | |
| Cannot make it old! | |
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