about March 1859
Sweet at my door this March night another Candidate--Go Home! We don't like Katies here!-Stay! My heart votes for you, and what am I indeed to dispute her ballot-?-What are your qualifications? Dare you dwell in the East where we dwell? Are you afraid of the Sun? -When you hear the new violet sucking her way among the sods, shall you be resolute? All we are strangers-dear-The world is not acquainted with us, because we are not acquainted with her. And Pilgrims!-Do you hesitate? and Soldiers oft-some of us victors, but those I do not see tonight owing to the smoke.-We are hungry, and thirsty, sometimes-We are barefoot-and cold-
Will you still come? Then bright I record you! Kate gathered in March!
It is a small bouquet, dear-but what it lacks in size, it gains in fadelessness, -Many can boast a hollyhock, but few can bear a rose!
And should new flower smile at limited associates, pray her remember, were there many they were not worn upon the breast-but tilled in the pasture! So I rise, wearing her-so I sleep, holding,-Sleep at last with her fast in my hand and wake bearing my flower.-