 | Poems by John B. Tabb |  |
68
TO THE VIOLET.
Sweet violet, who knows
From whence thy fragrance flows
Or whither hence it goes?
From whence thy fragrance flows
Or whither hence it goes?
A pious pilgrim here
To Winter's sepulchre
Thou comest year by year
To Winter's sepulchre
Thou comest year by year
Alert with balmier store
Than Magdalen of yore
To Love's anointing bore.
Than Magdalen of yore
To Love's anointing bore.
Methinks that thou hast been
So oft the go-between
'Twixt sight and things unseen
So oft the go-between
'Twixt sight and things unseen
That with thy wafted breath
Alternate echoeth
Each bank of sundering Death.
Alternate echoeth
Each bank of sundering Death.
| Poems by John B. Tabb | |