The First Violet.

A poem by H. P. Nichols

Spring has come, dear mother!
I've a violet found,
Growing in its beauty
From the cold, dark ground.

You are sad, dear mother,
Tears are in your eye;
You're not glad to see it;
Mother, tell me why?

I remember.--Last year,
Where our Willie lies,
Grew the earliest violet,
Blue as were his eyes.

Then you told me, mother,
That the flowers would fade,
And their withered blossoms
On the earth be laid.

But you said, as springtime
Would their buds restore,
Willie would in heaven
Be forevermore.

Weep no more, dear mother!
Violets are in bloom;
And your darling Willie
Lives beyond the tomb.

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