Through the bright drop that pity drew,
I saw beneath those tears of thine
A blue-ey'd violet bathed in dew.
The violet ever scents the gale,
Its hues adorn the fairest wreath,
But sweetest through a dewy veil
Its colors glow, its odors breathe.
And thus thy charms in brightness rise—
When wit and pleasure round thee play,
When mirth sits smiling in thine eyes,