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369

OF EARLY VIOLETS.

Soft, subtle scent, which is to me more sweet
Than perfumes that come later, — when the rose
In all the splendor of her beauty blows,—
Here, even to this busy London street,
Thou bringest visions of the grace we meet
When all-forgetful of the winter's snows
The earth beneath the sun's kiss throbs and glows,
And answers to his strength with strong heart-beat.
Thou 'rt like his lady's voice to one who waits,
In the dim twilight at her garden gates,
Her coming face; thou art the trembling, rare,
First note of Nature's prelude that leads on
The Spring, till the great, splendid orison
Of Summer's music vibrates in the air.