Sunday, June 26, 2011

Sonnet by Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson


Sonnet

BY ALICE MOORE DUNBAR-NELSON
I had not thought of violets late,
The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet
In wistful April days, when lovers mate
And wander through the fields in raptures sweet.
The thought of violets meant florists' shops,
And cabarets and soaps, and deadening wines.
So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed,
I had forgot wide fields; and clear brown streams;
The perfect loveliness that God has made,—
Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams.
And now—unwittingly, you've made me dream
Of violets, and my soul's forgotten gleam.

Sonnets are cool and not easy. I admire those that can pull it off. A link to read more about her and her poetry. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice_Dunbar_Nelson

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