To a Pansy-Violet

Found Solitary Among the Hills.     I.     O pansy-violet,     With early April wet,     How frail and pure you look     Lost in this glow-worm nook     Of heaven-holding hills:     Down which the hurrying rills     Fling scrolls of melodies:     O'er which the birds and bees     Weave gossamers of song,     Invisible, but strong:     Sweet music webs they spin     To snare the spirit in.     II.     O pansy-violet,     Unto your face I set     My lips, and - do you speak?     Or is it but some freak     Of fancy, love imparts     Through you unto the heart's     Desire? whispering low     A secret none may know,     But such as sit and dream     By forest-side and stream.     III.     O pansy-violet,     O darling floweret,     Hued like the timid gem     That stars the diadem     Of Fay or Sylvan Sprite,     Who, in the woods, all night     Is busy with the blooms,     Young leaves and wild perfumes,     Through you I seem t' have seen     All that such dreams may mean.     IV.     O pansy-violet,     Long, long ago we met -     'T was in a Fairy-tale:     Two children in a vale     Sat underneath glad stars,     Far from the world of wars;     Each loved the other well:     Her eyes were like the spell     Of dusk and dawning skies -     The purple dark that dyes     The midnight: his were blue     As heaven the day shines through.     V.     O pansy-violet,     What is this vague regret,     This yearning, so like tears,     That touches through the years     Long past, when Myth and Fable     In all strange things were able     To beautify the Earth,     Things of immortal worth? -     This longing, that to me     Is like a memory     Lived long ago, of those     Fair children who, it knows,     Loved with no mortal love;     Whom smiling heaven above     Fostered, and when they died     Laid side by loving side.     VI.     O pansy-violet,     I dream, remembering yet     A wood-god-guarded tomb,     Out of whose moss a bloom     Sprang, with three petals wan     As are the eyes of dawn;     And two as darkly deep     As are the eyes of sleep. -     O flower, - that seems to hold     Some memory of old,     A hope, a happiness,     At which I can but guess, -     You are a sign to me     Of immortality:     Through you my spirit sees     The deathless purposes     Of death, that still evolves     The beauty it resolves;     The change that aye fulfills     Life's meaning as God wills.