Poems (Howard)/Pansies

by Hattie Howard

For works with similar titles, see Pansies.

Pansies.

Pansies, pansies everywhere!
 Just one blooming acre—
Single, double, dark, and fair,
Reigning favorites, their parterre
Recompensing skill and care
 Of some pansy-maker.

Innocent and saucy-eyed,
 Looking straight to heaven,
Some are standing close beside
Others drooping, mortified,
As if to their conscious pride
 Rude rebuff were given.

One there is that looks to me,
 Tall and slim and speckled,
Like a true facsimile
Of a female that I see
Every clay, a spinster she,
 Angular and freckled.

Still another, dewy wet,
 Pink, with edges golden,
Like grandmother's china set,
Given to her namesake pet
Years ago; she has it yet,
 Heirloom quaint and olden.

Every color 'neath the sun!
 In each fair creation
Seems a miracle were done,
While we slumbered, by some one,
But the florist answers, "None!
 Only cultivation."

Pansies in the market sold,
 Gathered from the valleys;
Royal texture like the old
Fashioned velvet marigold.
Petals lapping, fold on fold,
 Round each fragrant chalice.

Hearts-ease on a placque I see,
 Artist Laura painted;
Talent of a high degree,
Real pansy-gift, hath she,
And with fame will doubtless be
 Very soon acquainted.

Pansy blossoms in my room,
 Making me sad-hearted;
For I saw their purple bloom
And inhaled their sweet perfume
Once above a little tomb,
 In the years departed.

Eyes of blue that softly beamed
 Had that angel sister;
Golden hair like sunlight gleamed
In her coffin, and it seemed
That of her we always dreamed,
 And forever missed her.