Song Of The Violet



A humble flower long time I pined
Upon the solitary plain,
And trembled at the angry wind,
And shrunk before the bitter rain.
And oh! 'twas in a blessed hour
A passing wanderer chanced to see,
And, pitying the lonely flower,
To stoop and gather me.

I fear no more the tempest rude,
On dreary heath no more I pine,
But left my cheerless solitude,
To deck the breast of Caroline.
Alas our days are brief at best,
Nor long I fear will mine endure,
Though shelter'd here upon a breast
So gentle and so pure.

It draws the fragrance from my leaves,
It robs me of my sweetest breath,
And every time it falls and heaves,
It warns me of my coming death.
But one I know would glad forego
All joys of life to be as I;
An hour to rest on that sweet breast,
And then, contented, die!

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

46 sec read
64

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABABCDCD EFEFGHGH IJIJXKGK
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 755
Words 153
Stanzas 3
Stanza Lengths 8, 8, 8

William Makepeace Thackeray

William Makepeace Thackeray was an English novelist of the 19th century. more…

All William Makepeace Thackeray poems | William Makepeace Thackeray Books

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