Confession.

As one, a poet of a fairy's train,
Might sit beside a violet's stem and view
Its opening petals, watch the wondrous blue
Thrill through their fibers, and their secret gain
Of how the earth and sky and wind and rain
Had given them life and form and scent and hue,--
So I have gazed into the eyes of you,
Those rare blue eyes, and have not looked in vain;
For they have told me all that I would know,
Even as the violets their secret tell
Unto the wistful spirits of the grove--
Ay, more than this, for, in their tender glow,
I've learned their secret, found their winsome spell,
The sweet and simple message of their love.