Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie,
Gleaming through moss-tufts deep,
Like dark eyes fill’d with sleep,
And bathed in hues of summer’s midnight sky.
Bring me their buds, to shed
Around my dying bed
A breath of May and of the wood’s repose;
For I, in sooth, depart
With a reluctant heart,
That fain would linger where the bright sun glows.