For Violet In the garden she hath found Herb of grace and fever-few; Woundwort there doth much abound, Heartsease too. Where she laid dead things away In the chilly earth, what stir! Whisper of Spring-time, green and gay, Comes to her. All Sweet-Nancies, daffodils, Talking in their beds below Of sweet vales and shining hills Whither they go. In the garden there`s no grief; God walks there and He is kind, When the first dear crumpled leaf Shakes in the wind. There`s no death now. Winter`s done. All`s given back. The dead again Walk with her in the wind and sun And the sweet rain. Heartsease in her garden plot, Ladders-to-Heaven scale the skies; While the dear forget-me-not Brightens her eyes.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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