The Violet

The violet in her greenwood bower,
Where birchen boughs with hazel mingle,
May boast itself the fairest flower
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle.

Though fair her gems of azure hue,
Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining;
I've seen an eye of lovelier blue,
More sweet through wat'ry lustre shining.

The summer sun that dew shall dry,
Ere yet the day be past its morrow;
No longer in my false love's eye
Remain'd the tear of parting sorrow.

by Sir Walter Scott

Comments (3)

A beautiful poem on a familiar commonplace, or topos, but inspired by a real experience, I believe.
Lovely Poem, flowed nicely and well written
Oh, another poem decrying the falseness of a woman. I think he had poor taste in women. Still the poem is beautifully written even though about a false love