Poems (Lowell, 1844, English edition)/Song (1)

For works with similar titles, see Song.
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SONG.

 Violet! sweet violet! Thine eyes are full of tears;   Are they wet   Even yetWith the thought of other years?Or with gladness are they full,For the night so beautiful,And longing for those far-off spheres?
 Loved-one of my youth thou wast, Of my merry youth,   And I see,   Tearfully, ​All the fair and sunny past,All its openness and truth,Ever fresh and green in theeAs the moss is in the sea.
 Thy little heart, that hath with love Grown coloured like the sky above, On which thou lookest ever,—   Can it know   All the woeOf hope for what returneth never,All the sorrow and the longingTo these hearts of ours belonging?
 Out on it! no foolish pining   For the sky   Dims thine eye,Or for the stars so calmly shining;Like thee let this soul of mineTake hue from that wherefore I long,Self-stayed and high, serene and strong,Not satisfied with hoping—but divine.
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 Violet! dear violet! Thy blue eyes are only wetWith joy and love of him who sent thee,And for the fulfilling senseOf that glad obedienceWhich made thee all that Nature meant thee!
1841.
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