Poem by Katharine Tynan

The Violet Farm

If I might choose my simple lot
Far from the town and quite forgot,
All in a sheltered nook and warm,
'Tis I would have a violet farm.

No daffodils should me entice,
Nor hyacinths with their breath of spice,
The tulip with her painted hood
For me should wither where she stood.

Instead of sheep upon the sward,
The modest violet I would herd.
Instead of golden heads arow,
Would see my violet harvest blow.

Under an arch of wild, wild cloud,
Below an opal mountain bowed,
All in a humid world and cool,
With winds and waters beautiful.

What airs across my farm should breathe!
'Tis sweet where pinks and roses wreath:
But pinks and roses are not sweet
Beside the hidden violet.

No shortest day of all the year
Should fade without a violet's cheer,
Invisible sweetness hid within
And folded up in swathes of green.

Though white and purple babes be born
When Daffodil his flaming horn
O'er quiet hills and vales shall sound
And stir the sleepers underground;

What country bliss can equal mine,
With violets for my flocks and kine,
With violets for my corn and store?
What could a mortal wish for more?

Under a mountain pansy-dark,
Loved of the eagle and the lark,
And set too low for fear or harm,
'Tis I would have a violet farm.

1. A Song of Going
2. Sheep and Lambs
3. Slow Spring
4. The Lowlands of Flanders
5. To the Others

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