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THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
Its nature in thee, for thy light
To be content with earthly home:
It hath another, and its sight
Will too much to that other roam,—
And heavenly light and earthly clay
But ill bear with alternate sway;—
Till jarring elements create
The evil which they sought to shun,
And deeper feel their mortal state,
In struggling for a higher one.
There is no rest for the proud mind;
Conscious of its high powers confined,
Vain dreams mid its best hopes arise;
It is itself its sacrifice.
Ah! sad it is, to see the deck
Dismasted, of some noble wreck;
