I would not flee if flight might be;
The violet still rules my day.
I plucked a flower when life was young,
I chose it all the flowers among.
It was so fresh, it was so fair,
Heaven’s very dew seemed cradled there;
A little while it smiled in morn,
And then it withered and was gone.
’Tis long years since, but every hour
I taste the perfume of that flower.