Poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton / [by Louise Chandler Moulton] [electronic text]

A VIOLET SPEAKS.

O PASSER-BY, draw near! Upon a grave I grow; That she who died was dear They planted me to show.

Pluck me as you go by— I am her messenger; With her sweet breath I sigh; In me her pulses stir.

Through these my quivering leaves She fain would speak to you— She whom the grave bereaves Of the dear life she knew.

"How glad I was up there!" She whispers underground. "Have they who found me fair Some other fair one found?

"Has he who loved me best Learned Love's deep lore again, Since I was laid to rest Far from the world of men?

"Nay! Surely he will come To dwell here at the last; In Death's strange silent home My hand shall hold him fast.

"Yet would that he might know How hard it is to bide In darkness here below And miss him from my side!

"Fain would I send my soul To lie upon his breast, And breathe to him Love's whole That life left unconfest."

Ah, pluck me, passer-by! For I would bear her breath— Undying Love's own sigh— To him who flees from Death.