GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK
Philadelphia, April 1850

THE WHITE VIOLET.

BY LEONORE

I FOUND, within a sheltered dell,

A lowly little flower;

Yet loved it more than proudest rose

That blooms in garden bower.

As if to guard it from all harm,

Its tiny cup was set

Within a bed of softest moss --

'Twas the sweet white violet.

And freely forth on every breeze

Its rich perfume was cast,

As, nestled in its little cell,

It blessed me as I passed.

I would my lot might be like thine,

O sweet and gentle flower!

In such a home of peace and love

To wait my life's last hour.

A mind too lowly for storms to move,

I'd have, bright flower! from thee;

And pure as thine own stainless cup

I would my heart might be.

And that my soul might then be filled,

Should by my last rich boon,

With holy love, as thy pure bell

Is filled with sweet perfume.

A love that freely upon all

Should pour its gladdening ray,

And leave a memory fond and dear

When life had passed away.

Said I "my LAST rich boon"? O no!

Another one I'd crave,

With a violet's love, and a violet's life,

I'd ask a violet's grave.

In thy mossy bank, where rest the last

Fond rays of the setting sun,

To sleep my last and dreamless sleep,

When life's long day is done.