Read "Song of the Violet" by William Makepeace Thackeray online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
A humble flower long time I pined / Upon the solitary plain, / And trembled at the angry wind, / And shrunk before the bitter rain.
And oh! 'twas in a blessed hour / A passing wanderer chanced to see, / And, pitying the lonely flower, / To stoop and gather me.
I fear no more the tempest rude, / On dreary heath no more I pine, / But left my cheerless solitude, / To deck the breast of Caroline.
Alas our days are brief at best, / Nor long I fear will mine endure, / Though shelter'd here upon a breast / So gentle and so pure.
It draws the fragrance from my leaves, / It robs me of my sweetest breath, / And every time it falls and heaves, / It warns me of my coming death.
But one I know would glad forego / All joys of life to be as I; / An hour to rest on that sweet breast, / And then, contented, die!