—GEORGE HENRY BOKER.
I see Thee in the distant blue,
But in the violet’s dell of dew,
Behold, I breathe and touch Thee, too.
—JOHN B. TABB.
Spring sat dejected in a sheltered nook
And sighed because of the long-lingering snow,
And prayed that warm, life-giving winds might blow;
When at her feet there grew, with trembling look,
A violet that whispered: “I forsook