sg 
Shall cluster round thee, as thy snowy hells 
On the green, polished stalk, that puts them forth! 
I will consider thee, and melt my cares 
In the bland accents of His soothing voice, 
Who, from the hill of Palestine, looked round 
For a fair specimen of skill divine j 
And, pointing out the Lily of the Field, 
Declared, the wisest of all Israel’s kings, 
In his full glory, not arrayed like thee 1 
Song. 
Violet! sweet violet! 
Thine eyes are full of tears; 
Are they wet 
Even yet 
With the thought of other years? 
Or with gladness are they full, 
For the night so beautiful, 
And longing for those far-off spheres ? 
