A una violeta temprana

What though thy bed be frozen earth,

Thy cloak the chilling blast;

What though no mate to cheer thy path,

Thy sky with gloom o'ercast;

What though if 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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