THE BLUE VIOLET.

Blossom that spread'st, as spring brings in Her sudden flights of swallows, Thy nets of blue, cool-meshed and thin, In rain-wet pasture hollows,—

Thronging the dim grass everywhere Amid thy heart-leaves tender, Thy temperate fairness seems more fair Even than August's splendor!

Yet do I hear complaints of thee,— Men doubting of thy fragrance! But, Dear, thou hast revealed to me That shyest of perfume-vagrants.

Do ever so, my Flower discreet, And all the world be fair to, While men but guess that rarest sweet Which one alone can swear to!