28 
Floral Poetry. 
THE VIOLET. 
VIOLET blossomed on the lea, 
Half hidden from the eye, 
As fair a flower as you might see ; 
When there came tripping by 
A shepherd maiden fair and young, 
Lightly, lightly, o’er the lea ; 
Care she knew not, and she sung 
Merrily ! 
“ O were I but the fairest flower, 
That blossoms on the lea ; 
If only for one little hour, 
That she might gather me— 
Clasp me in her bonnie breast! ” 
Thought the little flower. 
“ O that in it I might rest 
But an hour!” 
Lack-a-day ! Up came the lass, 
Heeded not the Violet; 
Trod it down into the grass ; 
Though it died, ’twas happy yet. 
“ Trodden down although I lie, 
Yet my death is very sweet— 
O the happiness to die 
At her feet !” 
Goethe. 
Translated by Theodore Martin. 
