THE 



Arrow-Leaved Violet. 



VIOLA S AGITATA, Ait. 



When beechen buds begin to swell, 



And woods the blue-bird's warble know, 



The little violet's modest bell 



Peeps from the last year's leaves below. 



Ere russet fields their green resume, 

 Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare. 



To meet thee, when thy faint perfume 

 Alone is in the virgin air. 



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. 



Bryant. 



