122 
VIOLET. 
For sunny is the day, though like the 
smile 
Dear woman wears, when she would fain 
beguile 
The coldness of her fortune. Upward towers 
The lark, companion of the fields with 
thee, 
And sings unto the clouds his songs of 
glee! 
Perchance his skyward dreams are of the 
flowr’s 
Which gather round him in June’s radiant 
hours; 
When thou, fair comer of the spring, hast 
shed 
Thy perfumed breath abroad, and 
drooped upon thy bed. 
The same. —anon. 
Sweet, lovely harbinger of Spring, 
Earliest gift in Flora’s ring, 
Thy scent exhales on Zephyr’s wing — 
Sweet Violet! 
# 
I found you, in the lone vale bare. 
In purest hue, sweet flow’ret rare, 
And you shall have my dearest care, 
Sweet Violet! 
