VIOLET AND OAK.
Down through the trees is my green walk It is so narrow there and dark That all the end, that's seen afar, Is a dot of daylight, like a star.
When I had walked halfway or more, I saw a pretty, small, blue flower ; And, looking closer, I espied A small green stranger at her side.
If that flower's sweetheart lives to die
A natural death, thought I—
What will have happened by then To a world of ever restless men ?
" My little new-born oak," I said, " If my soul lives when I am dead, I'll have an hour or more with you Five hundred years from now When your straight back's so strong that though Your leaves were lead on every bough, It would not break—I'll think of you When, weak and small, your sweetheart was A little violet in the grass." W. II. DAVIES.
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