130
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.
Is scarcely visible. How like this is
To the so false exterior of the world!
Outside all looks so fresh and beautiful;
But mildew, rot, and worm work on beneath,
Until the heart is utterly decayed.
There is one grave distinguished from the rest,
But only by a natural monument:—
A thousand deep-blue violets have grown
Over the sod.—I do love violets:
They tell the history of woman's love;
They open with the earliest breath of spring;
Lead a sweet life of perfume, dew, and light;
And, if they perish, perish with a sigh
Delicious as that life. On the hot June,
They shed no perfume: the flowers may remain,
But the rich breathing of their leaves is past:—
