128 
VIOLET. 
Because its fragrant leaves are those 
I loved in childhood’s hour. 
Tho’ many a flower may win my praise, 
The violet has my love ; 
I did not pass my childish days 
In garden or in grove : 
My garden was the window-seat 
Upon whose edge was set 
A little vase,—the fair, the sweet,— 
It was the violet. 
It was my pleasure and my pride ; — 
How I did watch its growth ! 
For health and bloom, what plans I tried. 
And often injured both. 
I placed it in the summer shower, 
I placed it in the sun; 
And ever, at the evening hour 
My work seemed half undone. 
The broad leaves spread, the small buds grew, 
How slow they seemed to be; 
At last there c5me a tinge of blue,— 
’Twas worth the world to me. 
At length the perfume fill’d the room, 
Shed from their purple wreath : 
