Some Violets

SOME VIOLETS.

by May Riley Smith

Dear friend, I give thee violets;
And for my fee,
The fragrant secret of thy life
Disclose to me.

For through it, like a guiding thread,
I scent the rue;
And faintly track the odorous feet
Of heart's-ease too.

Reach down on patient cords to me
Thy brimming cup
Of wise, sweet thoughts, that I may drink,
And thus toil up

To where thou art, so meekly high,
So far away.
I can but kiss my eager hands
To thee to-day.

Or, if I may not reach so high,
Then be it so;
If I may sit beside thy feet,
'Twill not be low.

And, listening soft, my soul may catch.
In some far sense.
The tuneful impulse of a life
Serene, intense.

Ah, me! I do but spoil my work
With clumsy phrase;
And mar, with my uncultured speech,
Where I would praise.

So I will lay my heart's-ease down
At thy kind feet;
Regretting sore their broken stems,
Their vanished sweet.

Yet praying that their faded blue
Some type may be
Of the fair badge my heart shall wear
Always for thee!