Classic Poem

TO MARY .

When April brings its smiles and showers,
And nature's carpet green is spread,
Among her first and sweetest flowers
The meek-eyed violet lifts its head.

The rose its blushing hues may boast,
In bowers luxuriant caressed;
The modest flower I value most
Is the meek violet of the West.

So unassuming, yet so fair,
Its language — innocence and truth;
Such beauties every heart should wear,
For they are gems of guileless youth.

The zephyr on its bosom sleeps,
The lip of morn its cheek hath pressed;
And nightly nature fondly weeps
O'er the meek violet of the West.

Mary, thy silken curls I see,
As graceful in the breeze they wave;
Thou, a young fawn so light and free,
Thy path is where the streamlets lave.

What joy those laughing eyes impart!
Affection's lip thy cheek hath pressed;
And need I say, fair child, thou art
The meek-eyed violet of the West!