THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
19
THE FIRST DAY.
'T is May again, another May,
Looking as if it meant to stay;
So many are its thousand flowers,
So glorious are its sunny hours,
So green its earth, so blue its sky,
As made for hope's eternity.
By night with starlike tapers gleaming,
And music like an odour streaming;
By day with portals open flung,
While bugle note and trumpet rung;
Rose Isaure's towers: and gather'd there,
Again, the gifted, young and fair
Have at Clemenza’s summons met,
In contest for the Violet.
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