Sweet and sad, like a white dove’s note,
Strange voices wakened my soul to glee,
And soft scents strayed from the violet’s throat.
—BERNARD WELLER.
When the rain beats and March winds blow,
We should be glad if we could know
How, not so very far away,
There shineth a serener day
Where birds are blithe, and happy children pass
To gather violets among the grass.