’Twas just at sundown, when the leaves were wet

With evening dew,

Far in the fields where sky and violet

Blend rifts of blue—

But for a moment, deep among the flowers

And rain-sweet grass,

I saw her—loved her—and as April showers

Beheld her pass.

O, the lone vastness of the afterglow,

Unknown before;

Shall e’er I see that face where violets grow,

Perchance, once more!

Yet no one comes save night, with wild regrets

And silent pain—

Only sometimes the scent of violets

On wind-blown rain.