124 WILD FLOWERS. 
But me in vain my Laura’s eyes, 
Her mother hath forbidden ; 
For in the buds I gather, lies 
Love’s symbol-language hidden— 
Mute heralds of voluptuous pain, 
I touch ye—life, speech, heart, ye gain, 
And soul, denied before; 
And silently your leaves enclose 
The mightiest god in arch repose, 
Soft cradled in the core I 
The Violets. 
Violets !—deep-blue violets! 
April’s loveliest coronets! 
There are no flowers grow in the vale, 
Kissed by the dew, wooed by the gale,— 
None by the dew of the twilight wet, 
So sweet as the deep-blue violet; 
I do remember how sweet a breath 
Came with the azure light of a wreath 
