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AN AUTUMN VIOLET.
To be born at the wrong time of year
Is surely most lonesome and dreary!
Is surely most lonesome and dreary!
Ah, the morn may be solemn and sober,
And sombre and cheerless the eve,
But, for those who have souls to perceive,
The violets bloom in October!
And sombre and cheerless the eve,
But, for those who have souls to perceive,
The violets bloom in October!
Lift up thine unfearing blue eye,
O brave but mistaken new-comer,
And tell, while the snow-flakes blow by,
What wandering sprite of the summer,
Betrayed by some bright autumn day
Whose treachery all should remember,
Has left thee, in fear and dismay,
On the door-step of cruel November?
O brave but mistaken new-comer,
And tell, while the snow-flakes blow by,
What wandering sprite of the summer,
Betrayed by some bright autumn day
Whose treachery all should remember,
Has left thee, in fear and dismay,
On the door-step of cruel November?
O, the days may be sullen and sober,
The nights may be windy and cold,
But, for him who has eyes to behold,
The violets bloom in October!
The nights may be windy and cold,
But, for him who has eyes to behold,
The violets bloom in October!
