Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/174

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Where, if a sunbeam wander'd through, 'T was like the silver fall of dew; The middle was an open space Of softest grass, and those small flowers, Daisies, whose rose-touch'd leaves retrace The gold and blush of morning's hours.

To-day the Countess had for throne An ancient trunk with moss o'ergrown; And at her feet, as if from air A purple cloud had fallen there, Grew thousand violets, whose sighs Breathed forth an Eastern sacrifice; And, like a canopy, o'erhead A Provence rose luxuriant spread, And its white flowers, pale and meek, Seem'd sisters to the lady's cheek.