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177
THE VIOLET.
A simple violet by a ruined wall.—How small a key unlocks the human heart!
That flower did many a bygone scene recall,
Bidding the clouds from buried years depart:
Again my fancy flew to forests green,
And one was with me robed in virgin-white;
We traversed many a well-remembered scene,
And lingered in the old wood's dreamy light,—
And then I sighed, and knew such things had been,
Like a bright day, closed by a cheerless night.
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