Who looked for thee, thou little song of mine? This winter of a silent poet's heart Is suddenly sweet with thee, but what thou art, Mid-winter flower, I would I could divine. Art thou a last one, orphan of thy line? Did the dead summer's last warmth foster thee? Or is Spring folded up unguessed in me, And stirring out of sight, -- and thou the sign? Where shall I look -- backwards or to the morrow For others of thy fragrance, secret child? Who knows if last things or if first things claim thee? - Whether thou be the last smile of my sorrow, Or else a joy too sweet, a joy too wild? How, my December violet, shall I name thee? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADELAIDE AND JOHN WILKES BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS LAUSANNE: IN GIBBON'S OLD GARDEN by THOMAS HARDY ON THE SOUL by PUBLIUS AELIUS HADRIANUS QUATRAIN: HERRICK by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH GOLDEN HILL by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG |