VIOLET. 
THE VIOLET. 
MISS LANDON. 
Why better than the lady rose, 
Love I this little flower? 
Because its fragrant leaves are those 
I loved in childhood’s hour. 
Though 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 seem’d half undone. 
The broad leaves spread, the small buds grew 
How slow they seem’d to be : 
At last there came a tinge of blue,— 
’Twas worth the world to me. 
