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THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
There thou wilt thy lover see
Dead to life, and love, and thee.
Only truth so pure as thine
Could approach the charmed shrine.
Press thy lips to the cold stone,
He will wake,—the spell be done!
Hast thou courage like thy love?
Follow thou the snow-white dove."
And Mirzala rose up, and there
Was a fair dove on that rose tree,
With white wings glittering on the air,
Like foam upon a summer sea.
She follow 'd it until she stood
By where a little boat lay moor'd
To the green willow, from the flood
But by a water flag secured.
