Oh, I have treasured it; yet will I return to thee the pink. ’Tis thy property.
Violet.
Nay, keep the flower, if thou lovest it so.
Ideal.
Ay, then I’ll think it had its birth ’neath twilight’s violet sky.
Violet.
Think not too lightly of the flower; ’tis most rare,—grown from a seed found in the tomb of an Egyptian mummy. She was an ancient princess who died in the flower of her youth from love ill requited: so reads the antique parchment entombed with her,—a legend pitiful and true; but then, ’twas three thousand years ago.
Ideal.
Love has grown more constant since then.
Violet.