The violets—the violets!
—FRANCES L. MACE.
When woods in early green were dressed,
And from the chambers of the west
The warmer breezes, traveling out,
Breathed the new scent of flowers about,
My truant steps from home would stray,
Upon its grassy side to play,
List the brown thrasher’s vernal hymn,
And crop the violet on its brim.