Here are cowslips, there the violets appear;
The rill’s low laughter, children’s joyous words,
The ploughman’s chorus, with the song of birds,
In mingled cadences, are heard afar and near.
--JOSIAH RICE TAYLOR.
All the world is blooming, wherefore sigh?
Violets amid the grasses lie,
And the wild bees with their girdles bright
Climb up dazzling shafts of dazzling light;
And on cowslips fall, in golden play,
Shadows of the swallows on their way.
--MRS. WHITON-STONE.
One loves a baby face, with violets there,
Violets instead of laurel in the hair,
As these were all the little locks could bear.
--ROBERT BROWNING.
The sea is growing summer blue,
But fairer, sweeter than the smiling sky,
Or bashful violet with tender eye,
Is she whose love for me will never die,--
I love you, darling, only you!
--ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN.
“Use! Use! Use!”
I cried impatiently;--“nothing but use!
As if God never made a violet,
Or hung a harebell!”
--J. G. HOLLAND.
The pride of every grove I chose,
The violet sweet and lily fair,
The dappled pink and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Chloe’s hair.
--MATTHEW PRIOR.
’Twas a child
In whose large eyes of blue there shone, indeed,
Something to waken wonder. Never sky
In noontide depth, or softly breaking dawn--
Never the dew in new-born violet’s cup,
Lay so entranced in purity.
--NATHANIEL P. WILLIS.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Violets, faint with love’s perfume,
Lie hid in tall green grasses.
--MARY E. BLAKE.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The violet, she is faint with heat--
The lily is all forlorn;
My love, arise, with thy dewy eyes,
Arise, and be their morn!
--ALICE CARY.
Grow greener, grass, where the river flows--
Her feet have pressed you;
Blow fresher, violet! lily! rose!
Her eyes have blessed you.
--CHARLES MACKAY.
Violets make the airs that pass
Telltales of their fragrant slope.
--BAYARD TAYLOR.
Sich a rainy season
A-comin’ by-an’-by;
But Sun will play de hide-an’-seek
Yander in the sky.
Lily’ll look so lonesome--
Violet hide his eye;
But de skies will do yo’ weepin’,
So, honey, don’t you cry!
W’en der rain is over,
Violet dress in blue;
Red rose say: “I sweet terday--
An’ here’s a kiss fer you!”
--FRANK L. STANTON.
Shadows, like the violets tangled,
Like the soft light, softly mingled.
--ALICE CARY.
When violets pranked the turf with blue,
And morning filled their cups with dew.
--OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
Came one by one the seasons, meetly drest.
· · · · · ·
First Spring--upon whose head a wreath was set
Of wind-flowers and the yellow violet--
Advanced. Then Summer led his loveliest
Of months, one ever to the minstrel dear
(Her sweet eyes dewy wet),
June, and her sisters, whose brown hands entwine
The brier-rose and the bee-haunted columbine.
--EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.
Oh, not more sweet the tears
Of the dewy eve on the violet shed,
Than the dews of age on the hoary head
When it enters the eve of years.
--ANONYMOUS.
’Twas violet time when he and she
Went roaming the meadows wide and free.
A happy lad and lass were they,
Their hearts, their hopes, their voices gay,--
She seventeen, he twenty-three.
The skies were calm as a sleeping sea,
And the hills and streams and the mossy lea
A part of the wooing seemed to be;
’Twas violet time.
Years fled, and weak and old grew he;
His form was bent like a snow-bowed tree,
His hair was white and hers was gray,
But their souls were young as a morn in May,
And in their souls--sweet mystery!--
’Twas violet time!
--ERNEST WARBURTON SHURTLEFF.
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye--
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky,
She lived.
--WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
O playmate in the golden time!
Our mossy seat is green,
Its fringing violets blossom yet;
The old trees o’er it lean.
--JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
The brown pine-needles at our feet
Spread forth until the green is met,
To mingle all their perfume sweet
With trillium and with violet.
--WILLIAM McLELLAN.
Ungarlanded still stand the fair
White ladyes of the wood;
Yet, purple-robed, the violet
Peeps from her gray-green hood.
--ANONYMOUS.
Passing along through the field of wheat
By the hedge where in spring the violets glow,
And the bluebells blossom around our feet.
--CHARLES SAYLE.
Lady violet, blooming meekly
By the brooklet free,
Bending low thy gentle forehead
All his grace to see;
Turn thee from the wooing water--
Whisper soft, I pray,
For the wind might hear my secret--
Does he love me? Say!
--N. C. KETCHUM.
Violets in the hazel copse,
Bluebells in the dingle;
Birds in all the green tree-tops
Joyous songs commingle.
--MARY C. GILLINGTON.
In her face a garden lies:
Violets are her azure eyes;
Just below them there repose
Blushing cheeks of velvet rose;
’Twixt the roses, scorning drouth,
Tulips of her tempting mouth.
In this garden alley may
Only one, the chosen, stray.
Reveling in their radiant hues,
Tasting of their precious dews,
Rich delights he ne’er forgets--
Tulips, roses, violets.
--GEORGE BIRDSEYE.
From over-sea,
Violets, for memories,
I send to thee.
--WILLIAM SHARP.
For thoughts of a sylvan home,
For forest trees gemmed with dew,
For sake of the Giver kind,
Violets, I love you.
--GRACE HIBBARD.
I sometimes dream that when at last
My life is done with fading things,
Again will blossom forth the past
To which my memory fondest clings.
That some fair star has kept for me
Fresh blooming still by brook and tree
The violets--the violets!
--FRANCES L. MACE.
When woods in early green were dressed,
And from the chambers of the west
The warmer breezes, traveling out,
Breathed the new scent of flowers about,
My truant steps from home would stray,
Upon its grassy side to play,
List the brown thrasher’s vernal hymn,
And crop the violet on its brim.
--WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
In shadows cool and dim
I rest at ease from care and cark,
With pinks and violets to mark
My small horizon’s rim.
--SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.
A shadowy nook, where half afraid
Of their own loveliness, some violets lie
That will not look the gold sun in the face.
--OSCAR WILDE.
How sweet to rest, ere dawns the summer’s heat,
Where violets gaze upward to the sky!
--GUNNISON.
Little streams have flowers a-many,
Beautiful and fair as any,--
Arrowhead with eye of jet,
And the water-violet.
--MARY HOWITT.
Soft-breathed winds, under yon gracious moon,
Doing mild errands for mild violets.
--SIDNEY LANIER.
The violets that skirt the bank
Bend down to thank
The laughing stream with kisses sweet.
--ANONYMOUS.
Poised in a sheeny mist
Of the dust of bloom,
Clasped to the poppy’s breast and kissed,
Baptized in violet perfume
From foot to plume!
--JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON.
CHAPTER NINE
Modest violet, maiden violet,
Pray, can I borrow your blue eyes?
--ALICE CARY.
CHAPTER NINE
These fall-time violets seem
Like a dream within a dream.
--ANONYMOUS.
O that I were listening under the olives!
So should I hear behind in the woodland
The peasants talking. Either a woman,
A wrinkled grandame, stands in the sunshine,
Stirs the brown soil in an acre of violets--
Large odorous violets--and answers slowly
A child’s swift babble; or else at noon
The laborers come.
--MARGARET L. WOODS.
The violets meet and disport themselves,
Under the trees, by tens and twelves.
--D. CHAUNCEY BREWER.
Shall I tell you what wonderful fancy
Built up this palace for me?
It was only a little white violet
I found at the root of a tree.
--ADELAIDE PROCTOR.
From the field by the river’s brink,
Where violets hid his nest,
Soars high with a canticle of the blest
The jubilant bobolink.
--FRANCES L. MACE.
Open wide the windows--
The green hills are in sight,
Winds are whispering, “Violets!”
And--there’s a daisy white,
And the great sun says, “Good morning!”
And the valleys sing delight.
--ANONYMOUS.
Violets, faint with love’s perfume,
Lie hid in tall green grasses.
--MARY E. BLAKE.
The woodbine I will pu’ when the e’ening star is near,
And the diamond drops o’ dew shall be her een sae clear,
The violets for modesty which weel she fa’s to wear.
--ROBERT BURNS.
The bright-eyed daisy, the violet sweet,
The blushing poppy that nods and trembles
In its scarlet hood among the wheat.
--WILLIAM W. STORY.
In meadows bright with violets
And Spring’s fair children of the sun.
--TRIPP.
Why do you shiver so,
Violet sweet?
Soft is the meadow-grass
Under my feet.
Wrapped in your hood of green,
Violet, why
Peep from your earth-door
So silent and shy?
--LUCY LARCOM.
O day of days! Thy memory
Will never fade, nor pass;
Patches of lowly violets
Were clouding all the grass.
--ALICE CARY.
Go, modest little violets, and lie upon her breast;
Your eyes will tell her something--perhaps she’ll guess the rest!
--CHARLES HENRY WEBB.
How gentle is the soul that looketh out
From violets sweet through dim, blue, tearful eyes,
That turns a pleading face to look about
And watch the sun’s course through the smiling skies!
--ISAAC BASSETT CHOATE.
Who beheld it? O, the rare surprise
When, like souls upspringing from the sod,
Violets unclosed their still blue eyes
In the green fair world of God!
--EMILY S. OAKEY.
Kiss mine eyelids, beauteous Morn,
Blushing into life new-born!
Lend me violets for my hair,
And thy russet robe to wear!
--OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
The south wind is like a gentle friend
Parting the hair so softly on my brow.
I know it has been trifling with the rose
And stooping to the violet.
--NATHANIEL P. WILLIS.
The flowers we know, they move us so,
Almost to weep we’re fain;
Who heard us say, that fairest day
Last spring, “They’re come again,
Sweet violets”?
--EMILY S. OAKEY.
I can hear these violets’ chorus
To the sky’s benediction above;
And we all together are lying
On the bosom of Infinite Love.
--WILLIAM C. GANNETT.
The modest, lowly violet
In leaves of tender green is set,
So rich she cannot hide from view,
But covers all the bank with blue.
--DORA READ GOODALE.
Here blows the warm red clover,
There peeps the violet blue;
O happy little children!
God made them all for you.
--CELIA THAXTER.
I pressed them to my lips for you,
Ah me! I know your heart forgets
In knowing not, or caring that
I pick thee violets.
--MARY FREDERICK FAXON.
When eve had come, and thicker grew
The shadows all the garden through,
Beside the rose-embowered gate,
Her laughter stilled. To speak, or wait--
Oh, beating heart, what should I do!
Long lashes hid her eyes of blue,
Twin violets befringed with dew.
--SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.
I wonder if the violet felt
Your presence when you gently knelt,
And breathed for you its sweetest air
Because you loved yet left it there.
--HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.
O, were I yon violet,
On which she is walking!
Or were I yon small bird,
To which she is talking!
--ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
I asked a nodding violet, why
It sadly hung its head.
It told me Cynthia late past by,
Too soon from it that fled.
--MICHAEL DRAYTON.
Compassed all about with roses sweet
And dainty violets from head to feet.
--EDMUND SPENSER.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that’s gone:
Violets plucked, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
--SAMUEL FLETCHER.
On beds of violets blue
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew.
--JOHN MILTON.
Over the river there lieth
A city wondrous fair,
And never the eye of a mortal
Hath looked on the glories there.
The lilies grow by the rivers,
Stately and fair they blow,
And lift their balm to the angels,
In their censer-cup of snow;
And the violets blossom forever
In the haunts where the wild birds sing,
And the fern and the flowers are fragrant
In the balm of eternal spring.
--EBEN E. REXFORD.
CHAPTER TEN
The violets bloom is loveliest,
Oh pretty pets, the violets.
--M. D. TOLMAN.
CHAPTER TEN
Ah, the days may be sullen and sober,
The nights may be stormy and cold;
But for him who has eyes to behold,
The violets bloom in October.
--ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN.
The soft warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns.
--HELEN HUNT JACKSON.
Into her dream he melted, as the rose
Blendeth its odor with the violet.
--JOHN KEATS.
I think I love the violets best of all,
Because of that hushed sweetness, far and faint
As star-dust through the darkness dimly sown.
--MYRTLE REED.
Oh, North, or South, or East, or West,
The violet’s bloom is loveliest!
They come from out their coverts green,
The daintiest damsels ever seen,
Oh, pretty pets, the violets!
--M. D. TOLMAN.
To gild refinèd gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
--WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
The sun pierced through
And made a rainbow of the mist,
And high, so high against the blue,
I saw a mountain capped in snow;
And in my hand were violets.
--MARY F. FAXON.
Where fields of goldenrod cannot offset
One meadow with a single violet.
--HELEN HUNT JACKSON.
If ever thou ’rt left alone,
Think not that thy love is dead,
But look till thou find’st the red
Wild rose, and say, “’Tis her cheek.”
Then kiss it close; and seek--
Where the clear dew never dries--
Blue violets for mine eyes.
--CHARLES HENRY LÜDERS.
Trust not, ye modest violets,
His promises to you,
Nor dare upon his fickle smile
To broaden your kerchiefs blue.
--ALICE CARY.
Because you mirror the skies
In color of heaven’s own blue--
For your sweet and dainty selves,
Violets, I love you.
--GRACE HIBBARD.
When violets lean
O’er wandering brooks and springs unseen,
Or columbines, in purple drest,
Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest.
--WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
My chill-veined snow-drops,--choicer yet
My white or azure violet.
--CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.
There came a softness in the air
And with a throb of longing, ere I knew
A hint of violets, a thought of you
For whom it was, my heart breathed up a prayer.
--CURTIS HIDDEN PAGE.
The primrose turned a babbling flower
Within its sweet recess;
I blushed to see its secret bower,
And turned her name to bless.
The violets said the eyes were blue,
I loved, and did they tell me true?
--JOHN CLARE.
I know, I know where violets blow
Upon a sweet hillside,
And very bashfully they grow
And in the grasses hide--
It is the fairest field, I trow,
In the whole world wide.
--ROBERT LOUIS MUNGER.
O, for the life of a gipsy!
A strong-armed, barefoot girl;
And to have the wind for a waiting-maid
To keep my hair in curl;
To bring me scent of the violet,
And the red rose and the pine;
And at night to spread my grassy bed--
Ah! wouldn’t it be divine?
--ALICE CARY.
The lillie will not long endure,
Nor the snow continue pure:
The rose, the violet,--one day
See! both these lady-flowers decay:
You must fade as well as they.
--ROBERT HERRICK.
Once thy lip, to touch it only,
To my soul has sent a thrill
Sweeter than the violet lonely
Plucked in March-time by the rill.
--JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE.
Blow, violets, blow!
And tell him, in your blossoming o’er and o’er,
How in the places which he used to know
His name is still breathed fondly as of yore.
--ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN.
See hyacinths and violets dim and sweet,
And orange-blossoms on their dark green stems.
--WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
The snow-drop, and then the violet,
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet,
And their breath was mixed with fresh odors, sent
From the turf, like the voice and the instrument.
--PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
When love in the faint heart trembles,
And the eyes with tears are wet,
O, tell me what resembles
Thee, young Regret?
Violets with dewdrops drooping,
Lilies o’erfull of gold,
Roses in June rains stooping,
That weep for the cold,
Are like thee, young Regret.
--GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY.
Over the hilltop and down in the meadow-grass
Heaven, like dew, on the waking earth lies;
Part of it, dear, is the blue of these violets--
Best of it all I find in your eyes.
--WILLIS BOYD ALLEN.
Far back where the April violets grew
There smiled, amid crystals of deathless dew,
Our first and last Arcadia.
In clear, unbroken melody
The brook sings and the birds reply:
“The violets--the violets!”
--FRANCES L. MACE.
No more shall violets linger in the dell,
Or purple orchis variegate the plain,
Till Spring again shall call forth every bell,
And dress with hurried hands her wreaths again.
--CHARLOTTE SMITH.
When October dons her crown,
And the leaves are turning brown,--
Breathe, sweet children, soft regrets
For the vanished violets.
--ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN.
Primrose and cowslip have I gathered here,
Anemone and hiding violet,
When April sang the spring song of the year.
Now all is changed; the autumn day is wet
With clouds blown from the west, and vapors fold
Over the dripping woods and vacant wold.
--CHARLES DENYS CONWAY.
She gave me a flower that she wore in her bosom,
And violets, not half so blue as her eyes.
--EMILY S. OAKEY.
Poor little Violet, calling through the chill
Of this new frost which did her sister slay,
In which she must herself, too, pass away!
Nay, pretty Violet, be not so dismayed;
Sleep only on your sisters sweet is laid.
--PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON.
As I was gathering violets in the snow,
Methought how often, when the heart is low,
And Nature grieves,
The buds of simple faith will meekly blow
’Neath frosted leaves.
--A. E. HAMILTON.
Now cometh Winter, soft snow-wraps to bring,
To keep her baby violets warm till spring.
--ANONYMOUS.
Very dark the autumn sky,
Dark the clouds that hurried by;
Very rough the autumn breeze
Shouting rudely to the trees.
Listening, frightened, pale and cold,
Through the withered leaves and mould
Peered a violet all in dread--
“Where, oh, where is spring?” she said.
Sighed the trees, “Poor little thing!
She may call in vain for spring!”
And the grasses whispered low,
“We must never let her know.”
“What’s this whispering?” roared the breeze;
“Hush! a violet,” sobbed the trees,
“Thinks it’s spring--poor child, we fear
She will die if she should hear!”
Softly stole the wind away,
Tenderly he murmured, “Stay!”
To a late thrush on the wing,
“Stay with her one day and sing!”
Sang the thrush so sweet and clear
That the sun came out to hear,
And, in answer to her song,
Beamed on violet all day long.
--OLIVER HERFORD.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Violet, little violet,
Brave and true and sweet thou art.
--ANONYMOUS.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“All nature mourns,” I said; “November wild
Hath torn the fairest pages from her book.”
But suddenly a wild bird overhead
Poured forth a strain so strangely clear and sweet,
It seemed to bring me back the skies of May,
And wake the sleeping violets at my feet.
Then long I pondered o’er the poet’s words,
“The loss of beauty is not always loss,”
Till like the voice of love they soothed my pain,
And gave me strength to bear again my cross.
--ALBERT LAIGHTON.
The violet’s gone,
The first-born child of the early sun;
With us she is but a winter’s flower,
The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower,
And she lifts up her dewy eye of blue
To the youngest sky of the self-same hue.
--LORD BYRON.
I picked thee violets
Upon a morn when the white mist
Went trailing down the leas and made
A gauzy scarf to twine and twist
About the feet of the blue hills.
--MARY F. FAXON.
Between her breasts that never yet felt trouble
A bunch of violets full-blown and double
Serenely sleep.
--JOHN KEATS.
Sweetest Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv’st unseen
Within thy aery shell,
By slow Meander’s argent green,
And in the violet-embroidered vale.
--JOHN MILTON.
Even the tiny violet can make
Her little circle sweet as love.
--GRACE GREENWOOD.
And Helen breathed the scent of violets, blown
Along the bosky shores.
--BAYARD TAYLOR.
There her head the golden lily rears,
The soft-eyed violet sheds her odorous tears.
--NICHOLAS MITCHELL.
I used to go and watch them,
Both night and morning, too:--
It was my tears, I fancy,
That kept the violets blue.
--ADELAIDE PROCTOR.
My girl hath violet eyes and yellow hair,
A soft hand, like a lady’s, soft and fair,
A sweet face pouting in a white straw bonnet,
A tiny foot, and little boot upon it.
--ROBERT BUCHANAN.
Here the first violets
Perhaps will bud unseen,
And a dove, maybe,
Return to nestle here.
--CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.
Gold violets, bright violets,
The sparkling dew at sunrise wets,
And doth with nectar overbrim;
Lustre no cloudy day can dim;
The golden sun doth shine upon
And call his children rare;
The yellow-bird hath sometimes stirred
Drawn downward unaware.
--EMILY S. OAKEY.
Lay her in lilies and in violets.
--EDMUND SPENSER.
The violet’s blue,
The rose bloom’s red,--and friends are tried and true;
The blossoms on the boughs are white in spring,
The wind is soft, the birds spread joyous wing,
And soar and wheel in the blue sky, and sing,
Because--because I love you.
--FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT.
In languid luxury soft she glides
Encircled by the azure tides,
Like some fair lily, faint with weeping,
Upon a bed of violets sleeping.
--THOMAS MOORE.
E’en now what affection the violet awakes;
What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes,
Can the wild water-lily restore!
--THOMAS CAMPBELL.
Then by the enchantress Fancy led,
On violet banks I lay my head.
--JAMES MONTGOMERY.
The air is sweet with violets running wild
’Mid broken friezes and fallen capitals.
--SAMUEL ROGERS.
Mistress violet, mistress violet,
I want your tender and true eyes!
For mine are as cold and as black as jet,
And I want your heavenly blue eyes!
Modest violet, maiden violet,
Pray, can I borrow your blue eyes?
--ALICE CARY.
Flowers were the couch,
Pansies and violets, and asphodels,
And hyacinths, earth’s freshest, softest lap.
--JOHN MILTON.
Flowers, of such as keep
Their fragrant tissues and their heavenly hues
Fresh-bathed forever in eternal dews--
The violet with her low-drooped eye,
For learned modesty.
--SIDNEY LANIER.
Before the urchin well could go,
She stole the whiteness of the snow;
And more--the whiteness to adorn,
She stole the blushes of the morn:
Stole all the sweets that ether sheds
On primrose buds or violet beds.
If lovers, Cupid, are thy care,
Exert thy vengeance on this fair;
To trial bring her stolen charms,
And let her prison be my arms.
--CHARLES WYNDHAM.
Thine old-world eyes--each one a violet--
Big as the baby rose that is thy mouth--
Sets me a-dreaming. Have our eyes not met
In childhood--in a garden of the South?
--HENRY A. BEERS.
May his soft foot, where it treads,
Gardens thence produce, and meads,
And those meddowes full be set
With the rose and violet.
--ROBERT HERRICK.
I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The violets and the lily-cups--
Those flowers made of light.
--THOMAS HOOD.
The light drop of dew
That glows in the violet’s eye,
In the splendor of morn, to the fugitive view,
May rival a star in the sky.
--JAMES MONTGOMERY.
I saw thee weep--the big bright tear
Came o’er that eye of blue:
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew.
--LORD BYRON.
Oh Stream of Life! the violet springs
But once beside thy bed;
But one brief summer, on thy path,
The dews of heaven are shed.
--WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
Whate’er the baffling power
Sent anger and earthquake, and a thousand ills--
It made the violet flower,
And the wide world with breathless beauty thrills.
--RICHARD WATSON GILDER.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The morning star of all the flowers
The virgin, virgin violet.
--LORD BYRON.
CHAPTER TWELVE
O Winter, thou art warm at heart;
Thine every pulse doth throb and glow,
And thou dost feel life’s joy and smart,
Beneath the blinding snow.
Thine is the scent of bursting bud,
Of April shower and violet;
Thou feelest spring in all thy blood
Yearn up like sweet regret.
--JAMES BENJAMIN KENYON.
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt,
What profit from the violets’ day of pain?
--HELEN HUNT JACKSON.
Pluck the others, but still remember
Their herald out of dim December--
The morning-star of all the flowers,
The pledge of daylight’s lengthened hours;
Nor, midst the roses, e’er forget
The virgin, virgin violet.
--LORD BYRON.
Violet, little violet,
Brave and true and sweet thou art.
May is in thy sunny heart,
Maiden violet.
Gentle as the summer day,
Wintry storms bring no dismay,
Winsome violet.
All the days to thee are spring,
Thine own sunshine dost thou bring,
Violet, faithful violet!
--ANONYMOUS.
Only in dreams thy love comes back,
And fills my soul with joy divine.
Only in dreams I feel thy heart
Once more beat close to mine.
Only in blissful dreams of spring,
And sunny banks of violet blue,
The past folds back its curtain dim
And memory shows thine image true.
--MELVILLE M. BIGELOW.