The Yellow Violet. 39 



Oft, in the sunless April day, 



Thy early smile has stayed my walk, 



But midst the gorgeous blooms of May, 

 I passed thee on thy humble stalk. 



So they, who climb to wealth, forget 

 The friends in darker fortunes tried. 



I copied them but I regret 



That I should ape the ways of pride. 



And when again the genial hour 

 Awakes the painted tribes of light, 



I'll not o'erlook the modest flower 

 That made the woods of April bright. 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



