Floral Poetry. 
231 
At length the perfume filled the room, 
Shed from their purple wreath ; 
No flower has now so rich a bloom, 
Has now so sweet a breath. 
I gathered two or three—they seemed 
Such rich gifts to bestow ! 
So precious in my sight, I deemed 
That all must think them so. 
Oh ! who is there but would be fain 
To be a child once more, 
If future years could bring again 
All that they brought before ? 
My heart’s world has been long o’erthrown ; 
It is no more of flowers ; 
Their bloom is passed, their breath is flown ; 
Yet I recall those hours. 
Let Nature spread her loveliest, 
By Spring or Summer nurst: 
Yet still I love the Violet best, 
Because I loved it first. 
L. E. Landon. 
VIOLETS. 
Y YNDER the green hedges after the snow, 
^ There do the dear little Violets grow; 
Hiding their modest and beautiful heads 
Under the Hawthorn in soft mossy beds. 
Sweet as the Roses and blue as the sky, 
Down there do the dear little Violets lie, 
Hiding their heads where they scarce can be seen;— 
By the leaves you may know where the Violet hath been. 
Moultrie. 
