James Thomson (1834–1882)

LIKE violets pale i’ the Spring o’ the year

Came my Love’s sad eyes to my youth;

Wan and dim with many a tear,

But the sweeter for that in sooth:

Wet and dim,

Tender and true,

Violet eyes

Of the sweetest blue.

Like pansies dark i’ the June o’ the year

Grow my Love’s glad eyes to my prime;

Rich with the purple splendour clear

Of their thoughtful bliss sublime:

Deep and dark,

Solemn and true,

Pansy eyes

Of the noblest blue.