I. THE VENDER OF VIOLETS.

"Violets! Violets! Violets!"

Violets!

This was the cry I heard

As I passed through the street of a city;

And quickly my heart was stirred

To an incomprehensible pity,

At the undertone of the cry;

For it seemed like the voice of one

Who was stricken, and all undone,

Who was only longing to die.

"Violets! Violets! Violets!"

The voice came nearer still.

"Surely," I said, "it is May,

And out on valley and hill,

The violets blooming to-day,

Send this invitation to me

To come and be with them once more;

[Pg 2]

I know they are dear as can be,

 Prev. P 2/151 next