God made a little gentian

God made a little gentian;
It tried to be a rose
And failed, and all the summer laughed.

But just before the snows
There came a purple creature
That ravished all the hill;
And summer hid her forehead,
And mockery was still.

The frosts were her condition;
The Tyrian would not come
Until the North evoked it.

"Creator! shall I bloom?"

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