THE BLUE VIOLET.

Blossom that spread'st, as spring brings in

Her sudden flights of swallows,

Thy nets of blue, cool-meshed and thin,

In rain-wet pasture hollows,—

Thronging the dim grass everywhere

Amid thy heart-leaves tender,

Thy temperate fairness seems more fair

Even than August's splendor!

Yet do I hear complaints of thee,—

Men doubting of thy fragrance!

But, Dear, thou hast revealed to me

That shyest of perfume-vagrants.

Do ever so, my Flower discreet,

And all the world be fair to,

While men but guess that rarest sweet

Which one alone can swear to!