Volume Iii Part 42 (1/2)
TO VIOLETS
Welcome, maids of honor, You do bring In the Spring, And wait upon her.
She has virgins many, Fresh and fair; Yet you are More sweet than any.
You're the maiden posies, And, so graced, To be placed 'Fore damask roses.
Yet, though thus respected, By and by Ye do lie, Poor girls, neglected.
Robert Herrick [1591-1674]
THE VIOLET
O faint, delicious, spring-time violet!
Thine odor, like a key, Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let A thought of sorrow free.
The breath of distant fields upon my brow Blows through that open door The sound of wind-borne bells, more sweet and low, And sadder than of yore.
It comes afar, from that beloved place, And that beloved hour, When life hung ripening in love's golden grace, Like grapes above a bower.
A spring goes singing through its reedy gra.s.s; The lark sings o'er my head, Drowned in the sky--O, pa.s.s, ye visions, pa.s.s!
I would that I were dead!--
Why hast thou opened that forbidden door, From which I ever flee?
O vanished Joy! O Love, that art no more, Let my vexed spirit be!
O violet! thy odor through my brain Hath searched, and stung to grief This sunny day, as if a curse did stain Thy velvet leaf.
William Wetmore Story [1819-1895]
TO A WOOD-VIOLET
In this secluded shrine, O miracle of grace, No mortal eye but mine Hath looked upon thy face.
No shadow but mine own Hath screened thee from the sight Of Heaven, whose love alone Hath led me to thy light.
Whereof--as shade to shade Is wedded in the sun-- A moment's glance hath made Our souls forever one.
John Banister Tabb [1845-1909]
THE VIOLET AND THE ROSE
The violet in the wood, that's sweet to-day, Is longer sweet than roses of red June; Set me sweet violets along my way, And bid the red rose flower, but not too soon.