THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
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Timid as the tale of woe,
Tender as the wood-dove's sigh,
Lovely as the flowers below,
Changeless as the stars on high,
Made all chance and change to prove,
And this is a woman's love.
"Well changed, fair lady," laughing said
A girl beside, whose chestnut hair
Was wreathed with the wild vine leaves spread,
As if that she some wood nymph were;
And darker were her brow and cheek,
And richer in their crimson break,
Than those of the fair ring beside.
In sooth, Lolotte had often tried
L 3
