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