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Poem by Sidney Lanier


On Violets Wafers, Sent Me When I Was Ill


Fine-tissued as her finger-tips, and white
As all her thoughts; in shape like shields of prize,
As if before young Violets dreaming eyes
Still blazed the two great Theban bucklers bright
That swayed the random of that furious fight
Where Palamon and Arcite made assize
For Emily; fresh, crisp as her replies,
That, not with sting, but pith, do oft invite
More trial of the tongue; simple, like her,
Well fitting lowlihood, yet fine as well,
-- The queens no finer; rich (though gossamer)
In help to him they came to, which may tell
How rich that him SHELL come to; thus men see,
Like Violets self een Violets wafers be.



Sidney Lanier


Sidney Lanier's other poems:
  1. On Huntingdons "Miranda"
  2. Nirvana
  3. Marsh Hymns
  4. Our Hills
  5. To Charlotte Cushman


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