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.