The shadows all the garden through,
Beside the rose-embowered gate,
Her laughter stilled. To speak, or wait—
Oh, beating heart, what should I do!
Long lashes hid her eyes of blue,
Twin violets befringed with dew.
—SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.
I wonder if the violet felt
Your presence when you gently knelt,
And breathed for you its sweetest air