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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
369
OF EARLY VIOLETS.
Soft, subtle scent, which is to me more sweet
Than perfumes that come later, — when the rose
In all the splendor of her beauty blows,—
Here, even to this busy London street,
Thou bringest visions of the grace we meet
When all-forgetful of the winter's snows
The earth beneath the sun's kiss throbs and glows,
And answers to his strength with strong heart-beat.
Than perfumes that come later, — when the rose
In all the splendor of her beauty blows,—
Here, even to this busy London street,
Thou bringest visions of the grace we meet
When all-forgetful of the winter's snows
The earth beneath the sun's kiss throbs and glows,
And answers to his strength with strong heart-beat.
Thou 'rt like his lady's voice to one who waits,
In the dim twilight at her garden gates,
Her coming face; thou art the trembling, rare,
First note of Nature's prelude that leads on
The Spring, till the great, splendid orison
Of Summer's music vibrates in the air.
In the dim twilight at her garden gates,
Her coming face; thou art the trembling, rare,
First note of Nature's prelude that leads on
The Spring, till the great, splendid orison
Of Summer's music vibrates in the air.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |