318 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
The broad leaves spread, the small buds grow, 
How slow they seemed to be; 
At last, there came a tinge of blue,— 
*Twas all the world to me! 
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 seemect 
Such rich gifts to bestow ; 
So precious in my sight, I deemed 
That all must think them so. 

Ah! 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’er-thrown ; 
It is no more of flowers ; 
Their bloom is past, 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, 

