John R. Tait (1834–1909)

HAVE you forgotten the blest eve we sate,

Awed by the tremulous murmur of the leaves,

Rustling above us from low beechen eaves?—

You twining violets, with calm eyes, as Fate

Serenely weaves our woof predestinate.

Dear flowers, the symbols of my future years!

All my heart’s impulses, its hopes and fears,

Heaved through my broken utterance. As the weight

Of fresh-fallen rain-drops bends some gentle flower,

Thus drooped your fair cheek towards me with its tears,

When (like a dream the memory appears)

I dared to kiss you. In a purple shower

Neglected fell the violets. How bright

Seemed the red sunset, and the moon that night!