Why does it linger while the violets blow,
And sweet things grow?
A relic of long nights and weary days,
When all fair things were hidden from my sight;
A chill reminder of those mournful ways
I traversed when the fields were cold and white;
My life was dim, my hopes lay still and low
Beneath the snow.
Now spring is coming, and my buried love
Breaks fresh and strong and living through the sod;