Gleams unseen, unsought, in its leafy bower,
While the heartless prefer some statelier flower,
That they eagerly cull, and, when faded, fling
Away with rude hand, as a worthless thing.
Not such is thy fate: not thy beauty's gift
Alone bids thee from thy bower be reft;
Not thy half-closing, dewy, and deep-blue eye;
But the charm that doth not with beauty die.
"Tis thy mild, soft fragrance, makes thee so dear,
Thou loveliest gem of the floral year!
And with joy, sweet flower,
I welcome thee here,
The Christmas wreath hath entwined my brow,
But the violet smiles in that chaplet now.
Sweet wanderer!-gladly I greet thy form
'Mid the loud shrill blast and the wintry storm.
Thou callest up visions of happier times-
Thou tellest of sunnier southern climes
Thou paintest bright pictures to memory's eye,
Of bliss-fraught hours for ever gone by-