Under The Violets

Her hands are cold ; her face is white Ko more her pulse come ftöil go '; Her eyes aro plint to lift? nnd light ; Fold the white Venture, snow on snow, And ly hor wïiere the vïolets btow. Bt not beneath a graven stone, To plead fe team W4th alien oye, A slender croBs of frood alone Sfaall ay that herc a maiden lies tn peace bemeath the peoef ui skies. Aüd gray old treee óf hugest limb Shall wheel their circling Bhadows ï-ound To make the scorcïiing Runlight dim, Th.it drinks the greenneea froni the ground, Aud droop tlieir dead leaves on her mound. YThen o'er their btyughs the squlrrels run, Aud tbrougü their leaves the robins cali. And, ripening in the autumn Bun, The aconiH and the chestmits fall, Poubt not that phe will hend them all. For her the morning choir etrniï ?SliR lts matins from tie bralichcs higii, And every mfastfcl Voíce of spring That trille bcueath tïae April Bky Shall greet her witfe. its earliest try. TVlien, Uirning roUbd their dïfeMrack, EastWard the lengthening shadoVre paae, Her little ïnotnJceïs, ciad in black, The critïfcotR sliding througli the graas, Shall pipe for her ra evening mRS-. At last the rootie'ts of tïae t'reo Shall find the prison Whero Bhe lieB, And bear the buitod duet they seize, tn leaves and blossoms to the skiee, S may Üie soul that ■w-aruied it rise. If anyt born of kindlier blood, Rhould ak, " Tiat maiden lies btloW?" SaV only this : " A tender büd, That tried to blsOtn in the enow, Lies withered where the violeto blow.V