Part 15 (1/2)

--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 gra.s.ses 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 gra.s.sy 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 Sh.e.l.lEY.

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-gra.s.s 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.