BLUE VIOLETS. 



So comes and goes an April day, 

 And so the violet comes and goes, 



A few pale blossoms grace the May, 



A last faint breath the May-wind blows. 



But now the air is full and free 



With quickening pulses of the Spring, 



And longing for the life to be 

 The phoebes of a sudden sing. 



And on a green and shaded slope 



The air is stirred with sweet perfumes, 



Where, in the heat and light of hope, 

 Again the rare blue violet blooms ! 



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