THE VIOLET. JANE TAYLOR. Down in a green and shady bed Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, And yet it was a lovely flower, Yet there it was content to bloom, And there diffused its sweet perfume Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow 7 VIOLETS. MISS MULOCK. Violets, violets, sweet March violets Sure as March comes, they'll come too, First the white and then the bluePretty violets! White, with just a pinky dye; Blue, as little baby's eye, So like violets. Though the rough wind shakes the house, Knocks about the budding boughs, There are violets. Though the passing snow-storms come, One by one among the grass, By and by there'll be so many, Children, when you go to play, THE VIOLET WILLIAM W. STORY. O faint, delicious, springtime violet! Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let The breath of distant fields upon my brow The sound of wind-borne bells, more sweet and low, And sadder than of yore. It comes afar, from that beloved place, When life hung ripening in love's golden grace, A spring goes singing through its reedy grass; The lark sings o'er my head, Drowned in the sky-O, pass, ye visions, pass! I would that I were dead! |