God does not send us strange flowers every year.When the spring winds blow o’er the pleasant places,The same dear things lift up the same fair faces—The violet is here.It all comes back: the odor, grace and hue;Each sweet relation of its life repeated:No blank is left, no looking-for is cheated;It is the thing we knew.So after the death-winter it must be.God will not put strange signs in the heavenly places:The old love will look out from the old faces.Veilchen! I shall have thee!—ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY.
God does not send us strange flowers every year.When the spring winds blow o’er the pleasant places,The same dear things lift up the same fair faces—The violet is here.
God does not send us strange flowers every year.
When the spring winds blow o’er the pleasant places,
The same dear things lift up the same fair faces—
The violet is here.
It all comes back: the odor, grace and hue;Each sweet relation of its life repeated:No blank is left, no looking-for is cheated;It is the thing we knew.
It all comes back: the odor, grace and hue;
Each sweet relation of its life repeated:
No blank is left, no looking-for is cheated;
It is the thing we knew.
So after the death-winter it must be.God will not put strange signs in the heavenly places:The old love will look out from the old faces.Veilchen! I shall have thee!—ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY.
So after the death-winter it must be.
God will not put strange signs in the heavenly places:
The old love will look out from the old faces.
Veilchen! I shall have thee!
—ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY.
INDEX
The violets whisper from the shade,Which their own leaves have made.—CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.
The violets whisper from the shade,Which their own leaves have made.—CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.
The violets whisper from the shade,
Which their own leaves have made.
—CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.