UNDER the larch, with its tassels wet, While the early sunbeams lingered yet, In the rosy dawn my love I met. Under the larch, when the sun was set, He came with an April violet: Forty yearsand I have it yet. Out of life, with its fond regret, What have love and memory yet? Only an April violet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AQUATINT FRAMED IN GOLD by AMY LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN CABANIS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. SIBLEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE LITTLE PEOPLES by CLAUDE MCKAY |