Sinopsis

BLANCHE:

AN EXHALATION FROM WITHERED VIOLETS.
I.

THE VENDER OF VIOLETS.
"VIOLETS! Violets! Violets!"This was the cry I heardAs I ed through the street of a city;And quickly my heart was stirredTo an incomprehensible pity,At the undertone of the cry;For it seemed like the voice of oneWho was stricken, and all undone,Who was only longing to die.
"Violets! Violets! Violets!"The voice came nearer still."Surely," I said, "it is May,And out on valley and hill,The violets blooming to-day,Send this invitation to meTo come and be with them once more;Pg 2I know they are dear as can be,And I hate