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.

Violet, little violet,

Brave and true and sweet thou art.

—ANONYMOUS.