The glowing violet.
—JOHN MILTON.
God does not send us strange flowers every year.
When the spring winds blow o’er the pleasant places,
The same dear things lift up the same fair faces—
The violet is here.
It all comes back: the odor, grace and hue;
Each sweet relation of its life repeated:
No blank is left, no looking-for is cheated;
It is the thing we knew.