V.—The Violet’s Grave.

The woodland !  And a golden wedge1
Of sunshine slipping through !2
And there, beside a bit of hedge,3
A violet so blue !4
So tender was its beauty, and5
So douce and sweet its air,6
I stooped, and yet withheld my hand,—7
Would pluck, and yet would spare.8
Now which were best ?— for spring will pass9
And vernal beauty fly10
On maiden’s breast or in the grass11
Where would you choose to die ?12