VIOLETS 



L. E. L. 



Violets ! — deep-blue Violets ! 



April's loveliest coronets! 



There are no flowers grow in the vale, 



Kiss'd by the dew, woo'd by the gale, — 



None by the dew ol' the twilight wet, 



So sweet as the deep-blue Violet; 



I do remember how sweet a breath 



Came with the azure light of a wreath 



That hung round the wild harp's golden chords. 



Which rang to my dark-eyed lover's words. 



I have seen that dear harp roll'd 



With gems of the East and bands of gold ; 



But it never was sweeter than when set 



With leaves of the deep-blue Violet ! 



And when the grave shall open for me, — 



I care not how soon that time may be, — 



Never a Rose shall grow on that tomb. 



It breaths too much of hope and of bloom; 



But there be that flower's meek regret. 



The bending and deep-blue Violet! 



