Of all her train, the hands of Spring
 First plant thee in the watery mould,
And I have seen thee blossoming
 Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.
Thy parent sun, who bade thee view
 Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip,
Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,
 And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.
Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,
 And earthward bent thy gentle eye,
Unapt the passing view to meet
 When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.
Oft, in the sunless April day,
Thy early smile has stayed my walk;
But midst the gorgeous blooms of May,
I passed thee on thy humble stalk.
So they, who climb to wealth, forget
The flower brings color to this gray, sunless sight in April.
The Yellow Violet