On Violet's Wafers, Sent Me When I Was Ill by Sidney Lanier

Fine-tissued as her finger-tips, and white
As all her thoughts; in shape like shields of prize,
As if before young Violet's dreaming eyes
Still blazed the two great Theban bucklers bright
That swayed the random of that furious fight
Where Palamon and Arcite made assize
For Emily; fresh, crisp as her replies,
That, not with sting, but pith, do oft invite
More trial of the tongue; simple, like her,
Well fitting lowlihood, yet fine as well,
-- The queen's no finer; rich (though gossamer)
In help to him they came to, which may tell
How rich that him SHE'LL come to; thus men see,
Like Violet's self e'en Violet's wafers be.

by Sidney Lanier

Other poems by 'Sidney Lanier'

June Dreams, In January

Laughter In The Senate

Laus Mariae

Marsh Hymns

Martha Washington

My Springs

Night

Night And Day

Nilsson

Nirvana

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