1
Her violets in thine eyes
The Springtide stained I know,
Two bits of mystic skies
On which the green turf lies,
Whereon the violets blow.
2
I know the Summer wrought
From thy sweet heart that rose,
With that faint fragrance fraught,
Its sad poetic thought
Of peace and deep repose.
3
That Autumn, like some god,
From thy delicious hair--
Lost sunlight 'neath the sod
Shot up this golden-rod
To toss it everywhere.
4
That Winter from thy breast
The snowdrop's whiteness stole--
Much kinder than the rest--
Thy innocence confessed,
The pureness of thy soul.