To A Violet Poem by John Bowring

Sweet flower! Spring's earliest, loveliest gem!
While other flowers are idly sleeping,
Thou rear'st thy purple diadem;
Meekly from thy seclusion peeping.


Thou, from thy little secret mound,
Where diamond dew-drops shine above thee,
Scatterest thy modest fragrance round;
And well may nature's poet love thee!


Yes! I have envied thee, sweet flower!
And long'd like thee to live obscurely;
Shelter'd in some benignant bower,
And breathing forth my soul so purely.


Thine is a short, swift reign, I know-
But here,-thy spirit still pervading-
New violet tufts again shall blow,
Then fade away-as thou art fading,


And be renew'd: the hope how blest,
(O may that hope desert me never!)
Like thee to sleep on nature's breast,
And wake again, and bloom for ever!