MARCH.
On all green places where ye blow,
Tenderest thoughts of GOD that grow,
Violets! March violets!
Hidden hearts that, lying low,
Sweeten all about you so,
Violets! March violets!
The love of youth is in your breath,
Love of youth more strong than death,
Violets! March violets!
Gathered in the greening glade,
And on lips of promise laid,
Violets! March violets!
Other sweetness, too, ye take,
Often kept for saddest sake—
Kept for soft'ning old regrets—
To hearts throbbing ye are prest,
Ye are laid on hearts at rest,
Violets! March violets!
Isa Craig.