ât is but a little faded flower, But oh, how fondly dear! âT will 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 rareâ A faded flower, a broken ring, A tress of golden hair?