If you are a follower of the blog then you know that I am not really a sonnet type of poet however there are exceptions. This aptly named piece by Alice-Dunbar-Nelson is one of them. I discovered this poem on the amazing poets.org site and for some reason, probably because it is a beautifully classical example of poetry it stayed with me. I am sharing this in honor of National Poetry Month as a reminder of how great poetry can be and as a symbol of how words can be evocative of life. I hope that wherever you are it’s a beautiful spring day and that the poem conjures memories of “sweet real things” for you.
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.