The Violet

A violet in the meadow grew, Bowed to earth, and hid from view: It was a dear sweet violet. Along came a young shepherdess Free of heart, and light of step, Came by, came by, Singing, through the flowers. Oh! Thought the violet, were I, If only for a little while, Nature’s sweetest flower yet, Till my Beloved picked me, pressed Me fainting, dying to her breast! So I might lie, There, for but an hour! Alas! Alas! The girl went past: Unseen the violet in the grass, Was crushed, poor violet. It drooped and died, and yet it cried: ‘And though I die, yet still I die By her, by her, By her feet passing by.’