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About this Poem 

From Ballads and Songs (London: Cassell and Company, 1896).

 

Song of the Violet

  A humble flower long time I pined
    Upon the solitary plain,
  And trembled at the angry wind,
    And shrunk before the bitter rain.
  And oh! 'twas in a blessed hour
    A passing wanderer chanced to see,
  And, pitying the lonely flower,
    To stoop and gather me.

  I fear no more the tempest rude,
    On dreary heath no more I pine,
  But left my cheerless solitude,
    To deck the breast of Caroline.
  Alas our days are brief at best,
    Nor long I fear will mine endure,
  Though shelter'd here upon a breast
    So gentle and so pure.

  It draws the fragrance from my leaves,
    It robs me of my sweetest breath,
  And every time it falls and heaves,
    It warns me of my coming death.
  But one I know would glad forego
    All joys of life to be as I;
  An hour to rest on that sweet breast,
    And then, contented, die!

This poem is in the public domain. 

This poem is in the public domain. 

William Makepeace Thackeray

William Makepeace Thackeray, born July 18, 1811, was an English writer best known for his novels, particularly The History of Henry Esmond, Esq. (The Mershon Company Publishers, 1852) and Vanity Fair (Bradbury and Evans, 1848). While in school, Thackeray began writing poems, which he published in a number of magazines, chiefly Fraser and Punch. He died on December 24, 1863.

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  You've all heard of Larry O'Toole,
  Of the beautiful town of Drumgoole;
    He had but one eye,
    To ogle ye by—
  Oh, murther, but that was a jew'l!
    A fool
  He made of de girls, dis O'Toole.

  'Twas he was the boy didn't fail,
  That tuck down pataties and mail;
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  Although I enter not,
  Yet round about the spot
      Ofttimes I hover:
  And near the sacred gate,
  With longing eyes I wait,
      Expectant of her.

  The Minster bell tolls out
  Above the city's rout,
      And noise and humming:
  They've hush'd the Minster bell:
  The organ 'gins to swell:
      She's