I DROPPED fresh violets on an open book;
As fresh and sweet as they, the reader's face,
Although it wore no favor in its look,
And met me only with a common grace.

" Thank you for bringing me these thoughts of spring. "
And as she spoke, she slipped with childlike air
A long-stemmed violet in her simple ring,
" Why! what a splendid amethyst I wear. "

" A happy fancy! May it further go?
The first, not third, is for my amethyst. "
With lover's daring, waiting not for " No, "
Her fair troth-finger I both bound and kissed.

The dawning spring now finds me growing old,
But midst the scent of violets turning gray;
And in my dear wife's well-worn band of gold
I slip a violet for the past, to-day.