Sea Violet

H. D., 1886 – 1961

The white violet

is scented on its stalk,

the sea-violet

fragile as agate,

lies fronting all the wind

among the torn shells

on the sand-bank.

The greater blue violets

flutter on the hill,

but who would change for these

who would change for these

one root of the white sort?

Violet

your grasp is frail

on the edge of the sand-hill,

but you catch the light—

frost, a star edges with its fire.

These aren’t actually violets in the picture, but it is an evocative image nonetheless.