THE ARROW-LEAVED VIOLET. 



It all comes back: the odor, grace, and hue; 

 Each sweet relation of its life repeated: 

 No blank is left, no looking-for is cheated; 

 It is the thing we knew. 



So after the death-winter it must be. 

 God will not put strange signs in the heavenly places: 

 The old love shall look out from the old faces. 

 Veilchen! I shall have thee! 



