Sunday, July 15, 2018

BW29: Sonnet by Alice Moore Dunbar Nelson

Courtesy of



July 19, 1875 - September 18, 1935

I had not thought of violets late,
The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet
In wistful April days, when lovers mate
And wander through the fields in raptures sweet.
The thought of violets meant florists' shops,
And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;
And garish lights, and mincing little fops
And cabarets and soaps, and deadening wines.
So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed,
I had forgot wide fields; and clear brown streams;
The perfect loveliness that God has made,—
Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams.
And now—unwittingly, you've made me dream
Of violets, and my soul's forgotten gleam.


This week our Brit Trip is taking us for second visit to Dorset.  During WWII its location allowed it to be involved in the preparations for the Normandy Beach invasion.

Rabbit trails: Exercise Tiger

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1 comment:

  1. I don't see a thumbs up so I'll comment here that I like this poem! I had never read it before. Thank you!


Thank you for your kind comments.