The complaint of the Violets which lose their scent in May.[1]
I.
In the shadow that falls from the silent hill
We slept, in our green retreats;
And the April showers were wont to fill
Our hearts with sweets.
II.
And though we lay in a lowly bower,
Yet all things loved us well,
And the waking bee left her fairest flower
With us to dwell.
III.
But the warm May came in his pride to woo
The wealth of our honeyed store;
And our hearts just felt his breath, and knew
Their sweets no more!
IV.
And the Summer reigns on the quiet spot
Where we dwell, and its suns and showers
Bring balm to our sisters' hearts, but not—
Ah! not to ours.
V.
We live, we bloom, but for ever o'er
Is the charm of the earth and sky;
To our life, ye Heavens, that balm restore,
Orbid us die!
- ↑ The following stanzas have been printed in a collection of poems, by divers hands, called "The Casket."
