THE VIOLET.
285
No flower has now so rich a bloom,
Has now so sweet a breath.
I gathered two or three,—they seemed
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'erthrown,
It is no more of flowers;
Their bloom is past, their breath is flown,
Yet I recall those hours.
