 | The Vow of the Peacock, and Other Poems |  |
283
THE VIOLET.
Why better than the lady rose
Love I this little flower?
Because its fragrant leaves are those
I loved in childhood's hour.
Love I this little flower?
Because its fragrant leaves are those
I loved in childhood's hour.
Though many a flower may win my praise,
The violet has my love;
I did not pass my childish days
In garden or in grove:
The violet has my love;
I did not pass my childish days
In garden or in grove:
My garden was the window-seat,
Upon whose edge was set
A little vase—the fair, the sweet—
It was the violet.
Upon whose edge was set
A little vase—the fair, the sweet—
It was the violet.
284
It was my pleasure and my pride;—
How I did watch its growth!
For health and bloom, what plans I tried,
And often injured both!
How I did watch its growth!
For health and bloom, what plans I tried,
And often injured both!
I placed it in the summer shower,
I placed it in the sun;
And ever, at the evening hour,
My work seemed half undone.
I placed it in the sun;
And ever, at the evening hour,
My work seemed half undone.
The broad leaves spread, the small buds grew,
How slow they seemed to be!
At last there came a tinge of blue,—
'Twas worth the world to me!
How slow they seemed to be!
At last there came a tinge of blue,—
'Twas worth the world to me!
At length the perfume filled the room,
Shed from their purple wreath;
No flower has now so rich a bloom,
Has now so sweet a breath.
Shed from their purple wreath;
285
Has now so sweet a breath.
I gathered two or three,—they seemed
Such rich gifts to bestow;
So precious in my sight, I deemed
That all must think them so.
Such rich gifts to bestow;
So precious in my sight, I deemed
That all must think them so.
Ah! who is there but would be fain
To be a child once more;
If future years could bring again
All that they brought before?
To be a child once more;
If future years could bring again
All that they brought before?
My heart's world has been long o'erthrown,
It is no more of flowers;
Their bloom is past, their breath is flown,
Yet I recall those hours.
It is no more of flowers;
Their bloom is past, their breath is flown,
Yet I recall those hours.
286
Let Nature spread her loveliest,
By spring or summer nurst;
Yet still I love the violet best,
Because I loved it first.
By spring or summer nurst;
Yet still I love the violet best,
Because I loved it first.
| The Vow of the Peacock, and Other Poems | |