Thou waitest late, and com’st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue—blue—as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. NOTES AND QUESTIONS For Biography, see page 41. =Discussion.= 1. To whom is this poem addressed? 2. What words tell you the time of year that the fringed gentian blooms? 3. What words does the poet use to tell the color of the gentian? 4. When does it open? 5. What words does Bryant use to mean early morning? 6. When do violets come and in what kind of soil do they grow? 7. What words in the poem tell you this? 8. What does the poet tell you about the violets when he says they “lean,” and about the columbine when he says it “nods”? 9. What signs of approaching winter does the poet mention? 10. Why does the poet repeat “blue” in the third line of stanza 4? 11. Of what is this color a symbol? 12. To what in his life does Bryant compare the end of the year? 13. In this comparison what does the little flower represent? =Phrases= heaven’s own blue, 53, 2 quiet light succeeds, 53, 3 shortening days portend, 53, 11 cerulean wall, 53, 16 VIOLET! SWEET VIOLET! JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL Violet! sweet violet! Thine eyes are full of tears; Are they wet Even yet With the thought of other years? Or with gladness are they full, For the night so beautiful, And longing for those far-off spheres? Loved-one of my youth thou wast, Of my merry youth, And I see, Tearfully, All the fair and sunny past, All its openness and truth, Ever fresh and green in thee As the moss is in the sea. Thy little heart, that hath with love Grown colored like the sky above, On which thou lookest ever, Can it know All the woe Of hope for what returneth never, All the sorrow and the longing To these hearts of ours belonging? Out on it! no foolish pining For the sky Dims thine eye, Or for the stars so calmly shining; Like thee let this soul of mine Take hue from that wherefor I long, Self-stayed and high, serene and strong, Not satisfied with hoping—but divine. Violet! dear violet! Thy blue eyes are only wet With joy and love of him who sent thee, And for the fulfilling sense Of that glad obedience Which made thee all that nature meant thee! NOTES AND QUESTIONS