| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 504. ’T is but a Little Faded Flower |
| | | By Ellen Clementine Howarth |
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| ’T IS but a little faded flower, | |
| But oh, how fondly dear! | |
| ’T will bring me back one golden hour, | |
| Through many a weary year. | |
| I may not to the world impart | 5 |
| The secret of its power, | |
| But treasured in my inmost heart, | |
| I keep my faded flower. | |
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| Where is the heart that doth not keep, | |
| Within its inmost core, | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| A tress of golden hair? | |
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