#251 To Violets - Robert Herrick

Oh good, a flower poem, short and sweet, like its subject. I like flower poems a lot, and they seem to sum up a lot of what I like about poetry. The sort of flower poem I really enjoy is an exercise in enlightened greed. It takes a simple subject and sucks the marrow from its bones. The flower is enjoyed, explored and, perhaps most importantly for me, gloated over. I love the sensation of rubbing my hands in glee at the fact that I have, in the imaginary treasure trove where I keep my joys, another intricate fancy stashed away. I am essentially a very frivolous Smaug.

This poem is not of my very favourite sort. The flower subject is a starting point here, an opportunity to play with flower symbolism, and perhaps the set-up for a slightly bitter joke. I'm not sure about that last one myself, but bear with me.

The author is someone whom we shall eventually get to know quite well, as Q has given us a decent handful of his poems to look at. Robert Herrick (1591-1674) was a clergyman, Royalist and advocate of a life well-lived. Before clicking through to the Wikipedia article, I advise you to brace yourself for the sights you will see there. Herrick seems to have been a sort of 17th Century equivalent to a 1980s footballer, all bubble-perm and luxuriant moustache. A kind of ur-Keegan, if you must.

One key aspect of Herrick's work seems to have been his insistence upon the importance of the good life. He dealt in the romanticised ideals of the Cavalier, those of wine, love, sensuality and song. This poem seems like quite a good introduction to some of this.

To Violets

 WELCOME, maids of honour!
    You do bring
    In the spring,
And wait upon her.

She has virgins many,
    Fresh and fair;
    Yet you are
More sweet than any.

You're the maiden posies,
    And so graced
    To be placed
'Fore damask roses.

Yet, though thus respected,
    By-and-by
    Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.

The dual symbolism of the violet, as a flower of virginity and of the funeral, is what is being exploited here. It is neatly done, I think. Several aspects appeal to me greatly. Firstly, the brevity with which the procession from honoured maid to neglected corpse is conducted. We move swiftly from welcome to departure in short, snappy lines. The poem is perhaps easiest for me to understand as two verses, each presenting first the preservation of virginity and then a criticism of it.

The first verse, if that's what it is, starts with salutation and plain description, but then seems to become almost facetious. I can't help but read the poem's tone in this way. The violets are described as sweeter than any of the other virgins, but virgins are suggested to be commonplace. It is the preservation of virginity, perhaps, which lends the special sweetness, but which also seems to be implicated in an uncommon pride. This theme seems to continue into the second verse. The violets are graced to be placed first of all, and yet this does them no good. They end up lying neglected, just 'poor girls'. It is here that the funeral symbolism of the flower is employed. It seems that those who preserve their virtue too well end up with no joy of it in the end.


I think that I read this facetious tone in the way the poem employs its mixture of short and long syllables. The words that find a special weight and slowness in my mouth, among what are largely clipped and tripping phrases, are those that relate directly to the concept of virginity: 'maids', 'virgins', 'sweet', 'maiden', 'respected', 'poor', 'neglected'. It feels like I trip from point to point, coming up against the emphasis thrown upon these words, and almost drawling them. If we imagine that this list forms the argument of the poem, a shift appears from one archetype of virginity to another, from sweetness to spinsterhood, from maiden to maiden-aunt.

As to what I think of this, I'm not sure. Criticisms of virginity can all too easily devolve into criticisms of female sexual agency. There is something very unpleasant in the idea that the value of female sexuality is as a currency to be spent or hoarded, and which must either be debased or neglected. Shades of the Madonna-whore complex fall too easily here for me to feel very friendly toward this poem, despite my respect for its functioning.

I suspend judgement on Herrick and women, however (much to his relief, I am sure). From my brief reading around, it seems that Herrick himself may have been much more chaste than his poetry might imply. The idea that this poem might represent a sort of self-mockery is appealing to me. If the true subject of the poem were not women, but the poet himself, my concerns would essentially evaporate. Reading the poem on the basis of this assumption, the tone seems to deepen and soften for me. If the clipped syllables represent a self-deprecatory glibness (that tone many of us use to dig at ourselves without wishing to be thought self-pitying) then the whole piece seems, to me a least, a little funnier, a little sadder and a lot more likeable.