THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
She dwells behind her leafy screen, 
And gives, as angels give, unseen, 
So, love—the violet. 
What modest thoughts the violet teaches, 
What gracious boons the violet preaches, 
Bright maiden, ne’er forget! 
But learn, and love, and so depart, 
And sing thou, with thy wiser heart, 
“ Long live the 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; 
