Seemed like a messenger from fairyland;
And well her fine poetic fancy knew
The sheltered places where the violets grew.
And when she raised them to her eager lips
With the pure rapture of a little child,
The dewdrops twinkled on their azure tips,
Till the young dreamer bent her face and smiled
With the sweet consciousness that they would bring
Into the meanest slum a breath of Spring.
Returning home, her joyous footsteps fell