The Yellow Violet

28 04 2013

When beechen buds begin to swell,
And woods the blue-bird’s warble know,
The yellow violet’s modest bell
Peeps from last-year’s leaves below.

Ere russet fields their green resume,
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume
Alone is in the virgin air.

Of all her train, the hands of Spring
First plant thee in the watery mould,
And I have seen thee blossoming
Beside the snow-bank’s edges cold.

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip
Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,
And earthward bent thy gentle eye,
Unapt the passing view to meet,
When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.

Oft, in the sunless April day,
Thy early smile has stayed my walk;
But midst the gorgeous blooms of May
I passed thee on thy humble stalk.

So they, who climb to wealth, forget
The friends in darker fortunes tried;
I copied them–but I regret
That I should ape the ways of pride.

And when again the genial hour
Awakes the painted tribes of light,
I’ll not o’er look the modest flower
That made the woods of April bright.

William Cullen Bryant
yellow violet
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4 responses

28 04 2013
Heidi Viars

you always seem to find the perfect poems for the seasons, days, and moments 🙂

28 04 2013
D. Raymond-Wryhte

The Word Press blog plus another writing project have had me return to a number of literature books I have kept over the years. I have been reading and re-reading poems and matching as many as I can with photographs I have taken over the years. In the process, I look ahead to a time when the poem and picture might be best posted.

28 04 2013
Heidi Viars

always beautiful and timely 🙂

28 04 2013
D. Raymond-Wryhte

Thank you.

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