11 February 2011

Sonnet, a poem by Alice Dunbar-Nelson

I had no thought of violets of 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 bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;
And garish lights, and mincing little fops
And cabarets and songs, and deadening wine.
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.

Alice Dunbar-Nelson


Luis Portugal said...

It has a nice blog.
Sorry not write more, but my English is bad writing.
A hug from my country, Portugal

Stephen Bess said...

Dunbar's love. That was a complicated relationship between Alice and Paul. The one thing that was clear was that he loved her. I'm sure that she loved him too, but he really loved this woman. Thanks for sharing.

Rethabile said...

Complicated love affair. Strong, nonetheless. Word has it that he didn't appreciate the fact that Alice had partners on both sides of the gender line. Whatever it was, this lady could write.

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