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floral POESY. 
The morning star of all the flowers. 
The pledge of daylight’s lengthen’d hours. 
And ’mid the Roses, ne’er forget 
The virgin, virgin Violet. 
THE ANGRY VIOLETS. 
DRAYTON. 
The pansy and the violet here. 
As seeming to descend 
Both from one root, a very pair, 
For sweetness do contend. 
And pointing to a pink to tell 
Which bears it, it is loth 
To judge it; but replies, for smell, 
That it excels them both. 
Wherewith displeased they hang their heads. 
So angry soon they grow. 
And from their odoriferous beds 
Their sweets at it they throw. 
VIOLETS. 
MISS LANDON. 
I do love violets. 
They tell a history of woman’s love ; 
They open with the earliest breath of spring; 
Lead a sweet life of perfume, dew, and light. 
