A Withered Violet
I PLUCKED a purple violet,Its petals were all dewy wet,I held it tightly for an hour,And then I dropped the faded flower;Dropped it and lost unconsciously,Scarce thinking of the how or why.’Twas hours since, but my fingers yetAre scented with the violet;The fragrant spell, invisible,Has caught and holds me in it’s sway.I would not flee if flight might be;The violet still rules my day.
I plucked a flower when life was young,I chose it all the flowers among.It was so fresh, it was so fair,Heaven’s very dew seemed cradled there;A little while it smiled in morn,And then it withered and was gone.’Tis long years since, but every hourI taste the perfume of that flower.Still it endures, and all day poursA balm of fragrance on the way.I catch its breath high over death;A memory still rules my day.
Words in this poem
- scarce a.
- Not plentiful or abundant; in small quantity in proportion to the demand; not easily to be procured; rare; uncommon. [OE. scars, OF. escars, eschars, LL. scarpsus, for L. excerptus, p. p. of excerpere to pick out, and hence to contract, to shorten; ex (see Ex-) + carpere. See C]
- morn n.
- The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Withered Violet is in the public domain. This text is taken from A Few More Verses, Project Gutenberg ebook #49518; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Susan Coolidge, A Withered Violet, in A Few More Verses (1889), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #49518, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/coolidge-few-more-verses/a-withered-violet.html, id L23453.
Form and metre
A Withered Violet is 24 lines in 2 stanzas of 12 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 85%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABCC--BA-D-D violetA · wetB · hourC · flowerC · unconsciously · why · yetB · violetA · invisible · swayD · be · dayD
- 2 AABB--CC-D-D youngA · amongA · fairB · thereB · morn · gone · hourC · flowerC · pours · wayD · death · dayD
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| I PLUCKED a purple violet, | 8 | ···/˘/˘˘ |
| Its petals were all dewy wet, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| I held it tightly for an hour, | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| And then I dropped the faded flower; | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Dropped it and lost unconsciously, | 8 | ·····/˘˘ |
| Scarce thinking of the how or why. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| ’Twas hours since, but my fingers yet | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| Are scented with the violet; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘˘ |
| The fragrant spell, invisible, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘˘ |
| Has caught and holds me in it’s sway. | 8 | ········ |
| I would not flee if flight might be; | 8 | ········ |
| The violet still rules my day. | 8 | ·/˘˘···· |
| I plucked a flower when life was young, | 8 | ···/···· |
| I chose it all the flowers among. | 8 | ·····/·· |
| It was so fresh, it was so fair, | 8 | ········ |
| Heaven’s very dew seemed cradled there; | 9 | /˘/˘··/˘· |
| A little while it smiled in morn, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And then it withered and was gone. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| ’Tis long years since, but every hour | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| I taste the perfume of that flower. | 9 | ···˘/··/˘ |
| Still it endures, and all day pours | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| A balm of fragrance on the way. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| I catch its breath high over death; | 8 | ········ |
| A memory still rules my day. | 8 | ·/˘˘···· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.