Happy Monday, my friends. Here is a wonderful poem by poet, diarist, and essayist Alice Dunbar-Nelson. After reading a few of her poems, I was intrigued enough by Alice to get a book on her diaries. I am looking forward to reading it. I will let you all know my thoughts on it.
Sonnet by Alice 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 bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;
And garish lights, and mincing little fops
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.
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