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THE VIOLET.
Why better than the lady rose
Love I this little flower?
Because its fragrant leaves are those
I loved in childhood's hour.
Tho' 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 seemed half undone.
