ON SOME VIOLETS PLANTED IN MY GARDEN BY A FRIEND by ELIZABETH COBBOLD

Catherine, though not from fortune's glittering stores
Thou hadst a gift to offer, yet 'twas thine
A tender sweetness in thy gift to pour,
That gave thy heart's expression best to mine.
The violets, o'er yon western bank that twine,
To thy protecting hand their station owe;
In brighter tints may proud exotics shine,
But none with fresher native fragrance blow:
Even as thy violets in my garden grow,
So shall thy friendship in my bosom live,
Its rooting fibres round my heart-strings throw,
And sweetness to each pure sensation give,
Still flourish there unfading, and defy
The changing climate and the stormy sky.

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