Thursday, April 2, 2015
The Wild Violet circa 1863
THE WILD VIOLET
Beautiful Violet, daughter of May
Blooming so modestly out of the way
Under the tangle and down by the brook
Upon the hill-side in some shady nook
Always and ever trying to play
Hide-go-seek with the sun's golden ray.
Beautiful Violet, welcome thou art
Bringing sweet music to a weary heart
For the memories full, thy coming seems
And gazing upon thee, back come the dreams
That haunted me once in love's bright day
When life and life's hopes were an endless May.
Beautiful Violets, when I am laid
Under the Willow-beneath its cool shade
Will you not come then, and bloom by me there
Filling with sweetness the soft evening air?
Say will you not come and over me lay
Your mantle of blue, fair daughter of May.
(This was found in a journal from 1863 from my personal collection. It was very common in the Victorian era to speak of death in poems. Not to be morbid, but because the life span was often short due to sickness and disease. The Victorians accepted this reality and spoke of it freely, which helped them deal with their grief.)