III

White violets, there by hands more sweet than they Planted, shall sweeten April's flowerful air About a grave that shows to night and day White violets there.

A child's light hands, whose touch makes flowers more fair, Keep fair as these for many a March and May The light of days that are because they were.

It shall not like a blossom pass away; It broods and brightens with the days that bear Fresh fruits of love, but leave, as love might pray, White violets there.