THE VIOLET
97
For they drew no blood,
And they knit no frown.
I knew of them not
Until Cupid laughed loud,
And saying "You 're caught!"
Flew off in the cloud.
O then I awoke,
And I lived but to sigh,
Till a clear voice spoke,—
And my tears are dry.
THE VIOLET
BY ELLEN LOUISA TUCKER
Why lingerest thou, pale violet, to see the dying year;
Are Autumn's blasts fit music for thee, fragile one, to hear;
Will thy clear blue eye, upward bent, still keep its chastened glow,
Still tearless lift its slender form above the wintry snow?
Why wilt thou live when none around reflects thy pensive ray?
Thou bloomest here a lonely thing in the clear autumn day.
