The Poetry Corner

To The Daughter Of The Author Of "Violet Keith."

By Kate Seymour Maclean

I never looked upon thy face; I never saw thy dwelling-place; My home is by Lake Erie's shore, Beyond Niagara's distant roar; And thine where ships at anchor ride, By fair St. Lawrence's rolling tide, With half a continent between Its seas of blue, and isles of green, And many a mountain's nodding crest, And many a valley's jewelled breast. Thou in the east, I in the west; Yet in this book thou hast to me An individuality; Something more tangible and fair Than any dream or shape of air, With more than an ideal grace, And sweeter than a pictured face: For in this book my thought recalls The garden quaint, the convent walls. And thou beneath their shadow set, A blue-eyed fragrant violet. So for the maiden of the tale, Whose brave true heart might break, not fail, Thyself, my Violet I make, And love thee for thy mother's sake.