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WHITE VIOLETS.
She raised a rapt, transfigured face:
"Blest with thy love," the maiden said,
"No more shall Claire crave resting-place
Among the dead!"
"Blest with thy love," the maiden said,
"No more shall Claire crave resting-place
Among the dead!"
Soft sang the wind through ancient bowers!
Light swayed the gauzy water-jets!
Loving and loved!—Oh rarest flowers,—
White violets!
Light swayed the gauzy water-jets!
Loving and loved!—Oh rarest flowers,—
White violets!
