To An Early Violet

What though thy bed be frozen earth, Thy cloak the chilling blast; What though no mate to clear thy path, Thy sky with gloom o’ercast –

What though of love itself doth fail, Thy fragrance strewed in vain; What though if bad o’er good prevail, And vice o’er virtue reign –

Change not thy nature, gentle bloom,
Thou violet, sweet and pure,
But ever pour thy sweet perfume
Unasked, unstinted, sure !

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