Bohemian Poems, Ancient and Modern/The Winter Violet

by Albert Henry Wratislaw

THE WINTER VIOLET.

 

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O TELL me what the flow’ret is,
That I should in my bosom place?
The gentle flower to make my bliss?—
O where can I its dwelling trace?

I sought the gardens through and through,
Spring, Summer, Autumn, nought was there,
Was nought for me, where roses grew,
Where pinks and lilies blossom’d fair.

Time passes on, I seek in vain,
And nought to cheer the heart I find,
And now the winter comes again
With gloomy sky and howling wind.

In still despair I wander on,
All, all around is nought for me,
When lo! a quiet bank upon,
A Violet all alone I see.

I to my bosom seize and kiss
Th’ unhop’d for treasure newly found;
My soul awakes again to bliss,
And all again is spring around.

Thou gentle violet, sweet and true,
Abide for ever near my heart!
Though fleeteth form and fadeth hue,
The violet’s scent doth ne’er depart.

 

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