To an Early Violet

What though thy bed be frozen earth,

Thy cloak the chilling blast;
What though no mate to clear thy path,
Thy sky with gloom o'ercast --

What though of love itself doth fail,
Thy fragrance strewed in vain;
What though if bad o'er good prevail,
And vice o'er virtue reign --

Change not thy nature, gentle bloom,
Thou violet, sweet and pure,
But ever pour thy sweet perfume
Unasked, unstinted, sure !