MARCH VIOLETS.

This busy, dusty wind that blows

Along the cruel streets,

Right to the heart of violets goes,

And robs them of their sweets.

And as along the cruel street

The keen wind robs the flowers,

So the cold kindness that we meet

Blights these poor hearts of ours.

But if you tend with warmth, you know,

Your violets, they give

Sweet scent again, as if to show

How glad they are to live.

We think if some one loved us too

Our hearts would break to prove

By all that we could say or do,

How glad we were to love!