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Floral Poetry. 
THE VIOLET. 
S WEET Violets, Love’s paradise, that spread 
Your gracious odours, which you couched bear 
Within your palie faces, 
Upon the gentle wing of some calm-breathing wind, 
That plays amidst the plain, 
If by the favour of propitious stars you gain 
Such grace as in my ladie’s bosom place to find, 
Be proud to touch those places ! 
Your honours of the flowrie meads I pray, 
You pretty daughters of the earth and sun. 
Raleigh. 
VIOLETS.—A SONNET. 
B EAUTIFUL are you in your lowliness : 
Bright in your hues, delicious in your scent, 
Lovely your modest blossoms, downward bent, 
As shrinking from our gaze, yet prompt to bless 
The passer-by with fragrance, and express 
How gracefully, though mutely eloquent, 
Are unobtrusive worth and meek content, 
Rejoicing in their own obscure recess. 
Delightful flowerets ! at the voice of Spring 
Your buds unfolded to its sunbeams bright; 
And, though your blossoms soon shall fade from sight, 
Above your lonely birth-place birds shall sing, 
And from your clustering leaves the glow-worm fling 
The emerald glory of its earth-born light. 
Barton. 
