The Pansy

Anonymous

Of all the bonny buds that blow,

In bright or cloudy weather,

Of all the flowers that come and go,

The whole twelve moons together,

This little purple pansy brings,

Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things.

I had a little lover once,

Who used to give me posies;

His eyes were blue as hyacinths,

His lips were red as roses;

And everybody loved to praise

His pretty looks and winsome ways.

The girls that went to school with me

Made little jealous speeches,

Because he brought me royally

His biggest plums and peaches,

And always at the door would wait,

To carry home my books and slate.

They couldn't see—with pout and fling—

"The mighty fascination

About that little snub-nosed thing,

To win such admiration;

As if there weren't a dozen girls

With nicer eyes and longer curls!"

And this I knew as well as they,

And never could see clearly

Why, more than Marion or May,

I should be loved so dearly.

So once I asked him, why was this;

He only answered with a kiss;

Until I teased him: "Tell me why,

I want to know the reason."

Then from the garden-bed close by

(The pansies were in season)

He plucked and gave a flower to me,

With sweet and simple gravity.

"The garden is in bloom," he said,

"With lilies pale and slender,

With roses and verbenas red,

And fuchsias' purple splendor;

But over and above the rest,

This little heart's-ease suits me best."

"Am I your little heart's-ease, then?"

I asked with blushing pleasure.

He answered "Yes!" and "Yes!" again—

"Heart's-ease and dearest treasure;"

That the round world and all the sea

Held nothing half so sweet as me!

I listened with a proud delight,

Too rare for words to capture,

Nor ever dreamed what sudden blight,

Would come to chill my rapture.

Could I foresee the tender bloom

Of pansies round a little tomb?

Life holds some stern experience,

As most of us discover,

And I've had other losses since

I lost my little lover;

But still this purple pansy brings

Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things.