Poems (Allen)/The Vision of Violets
NE shining morn in a vanished May
We wandered away from the tiresome town,
To one of the isles in the dimpled bay;
And warmly the loving sun looked down
On pleasant slopes where the green fields lay,
And fresh-turned furrows all damp and brown.
THE VISION OF VIOLETS.
NE shining morn in a vanished MayWe wandered away from the tiresome town,
To one of the isles in the dimpled bay;
And warmly the loving sun looked down
On pleasant slopes where the green fields lay,
And fresh-turned furrows all damp and brown.
Heavy with fragrance was all the air,
And birds and bees were astir that day;
The apple-orchards were white and fair,
And over them softly a rose-light lay,
Like that warm blush which the snow-Alps wear,
Watched and worshipped from far away.
And birds and bees were astir that day;
The apple-orchards were white and fair,
And over them softly a rose-light lay,
Like that warm blush which the snow-Alps wear,
Watched and worshipped from far away.
Stooping, with dew-besprinkled brows,
We entered under the rosy roof,
Where the still air slept in a dreamy drowse,
So shutting the living world aloof,
That the gossamer webs on the bloomy boughs
Were all unbroken in warp and woof.
We entered under the rosy roof,
Where the still air slept in a dreamy drowse,
So shutting the living world aloof,
That the gossamer webs on the bloomy boughs
Were all unbroken in warp and woof.
O, the vision that charmed our sight!
Hushed by a rare delight we stood,
As though we had found, in broad daylight,
The portal of an enchanted wood,
Or, stealing the wand of some elfin sprite,
Had suddenly put on fairyhood.
Hushed by a rare delight we stood,
As though we had found, in broad daylight,
The portal of an enchanted wood,
Or, stealing the wand of some elfin sprite,
Had suddenly put on fairyhood.
For lo! the mossy and rain-fresh ground
Was all empurpled with violet bloom;
Hollows were hidden and hillocks crowned,
Leaving so little breathing-room
That all the wondering air around
Was hushed and fainting with much perfume.
Was all empurpled with violet bloom;
Hollows were hidden and hillocks crowned,
Leaving so little breathing-room
That all the wondering air around
Was hushed and fainting with much perfume.
Pressing and pushing in purple crowds,
Laying, lovingly, cheek to cheek,
Drifted together in waves and clouds,—
As some mad painter; in wildest freak,
With wealth or pigment his canvas shrouds,
Lavishing color in mass and streak.
Laying, lovingly, cheek to cheek,
Drifted together in waves and clouds,—
As some mad painter; in wildest freak,
With wealth or pigment his canvas shrouds,
Lavishing color in mass and streak.
Open-eyed, with a startled air,
They stood, amazed at their plenteousness,
Scattered profusely everywhere
In wasteful lavishment; one might guess
A storm of blossoms had fallen there
And covered the ground with a sweet excess.
They stood, amazed at their plenteousness,
Scattered profusely everywhere
In wasteful lavishment; one might guess
A storm of blossoms had fallen there
And covered the ground with a sweet excess.
I stooped for a handful—"No,—forbear!
It were sacrilege; let them stay
All ungathered, they are so fair;
We will go back to the town, and say
That here, in the broad free light and air,
We have seen a miracle wrought to-day!
It were sacrilege; let them stay
All ungathered, they are so fair;
We will go back to the town, and say
That here, in the broad free light and air,
We have seen a miracle wrought to-day!
"For these are not living violets: see!
Never a cup is with dew impearled,—
Never a single roving bee
Over their ranks has his pinion furled;
These are phantoms, it seems to me,
The sinless souls of the violet world,—
Never a cup is with dew impearled,—
Never a single roving bee
Over their ranks has his pinion furled;
These are phantoms, it seems to me,
The sinless souls of the violet world,—
"The souls of all which have bloomed and died
Since the first was in Eden born;
Victims of heedless sport or pride,
Prized, neglected, or crushed in scorn,
Won and wasted and flung aside,—
And this is their resurrection morn.
Since the first was in Eden born;
Victims of heedless sport or pride,
Prized, neglected, or crushed in scorn,
Won and wasted and flung aside,—
And this is their resurrection morn.
"They have escaped from the covetous hands
Which wove them in many a diadem,
To crown loose tresses or braided bands,—
Leaf and blossom and tender stem;
The children who twined them in wilting strands,
And the careless feet which trampled them.
Which wove them in many a diadem,
To crown loose tresses or braided bands,—
Leaf and blossom and tender stem;
The children who twined them in wilting strands,
And the careless feet which trampled them.
"The lawless butterfly's piracy
Shall drain no longer their honey-store;
No stain shall sully their purity,
No storm affright them with rush and roar;
Aud the thirsty moth, and the pilfering bee
Shall never trouble them any more!"
Shall drain no longer their honey-store;
No stain shall sully their purity,
No storm affright them with rush and roar;
Aud the thirsty moth, and the pilfering bee
Shall never trouble them any more!"
And thus we left them; but still for me
Does that fair island the vision keep,—
Still on the orchard the rose-hues be,
And still in the shadow the sweet airs sleep;
And under the blossomed boughs I see
The violets clustering ankle-deep.
Does that fair island the vision keep,—
Still on the orchard the rose-hues be,
And still in the shadow the sweet airs sleep;
And under the blossomed boughs I see
The violets clustering ankle-deep.