The Violet.
When birchen buds begin to swell,
And woods the bluebirds’ warble know,
The little violet’s modest bell
Peeps from the last year’s leaves below.
Oft in the sunless April day
Thy early smile has stayed my walk;
But midst the gorgeous blooms of May
I passed thee on thy humble stalk.
So they who climb to wealth forget
The friends in darker fortunes tried;
I copied them, but I regret
That I should ape the ways of pride.