Page:Bijou Almanacks.pdf/6



Where the purple violet groweth Beneath the willow-tree, Where the early snowdrop bloweth, Seek we a wreath for thee.

For the violet's breath perfumeth The open air around, And the gentle snowdrop bloometh When none beside are found.

We will gather these, these only, To strew thy grave along; They are lovely, they are lonely, And they haunt us like thy song.