WITHERED VIOLETS.
"Violets! deep-blue violets!
April's loveliest coronets!
There are no flowers grow in the vale,
Kissed by the dew, waved by the gale—
None by the dew of the twilight wet,
So sweet as the deep-blue violet."—L. E . L.
April's loveliest coronets!
There are no flowers grow in the vale,
Kissed by the dew, waved by the gale—
None by the dew of the twilight wet,
So sweet as the deep-blue violet."—L. E . L.
Oh, give me back those faded flowers!
For dearly do I prize
Those little violets, which look up
"With blue and starry eyes.
Oh, give them back, nor deem me weak,
That I should ask of thee
The flowers which I so long have kept—
His last, last gift to me.
For dearly do I prize
Those little violets, which look up
"With blue and starry eyes.
Oh, give them back, nor deem me weak,
That I should ask of thee
The flowers which I so long have kept—
His last, last gift to me.
