THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
163 
THE VIOLET. 
I 
BY BARRY CORNWALL. 
I love all things the seasons bring, 
All buds that start, all birds that sing, 
All leaves, from white to jet; 
All the sweet words that Summer sends, 
When she recalls her flowery friends, 
But chief—the Violet! 
I love, how much I love the rose, 
On whose soft lips the South-wind blows 
In pretty amorous threat; 
The lily paler than the moon, 
The odorous wondrous world of June, 
Yet more—the Violet! 
She comes—the first, the fairest thing 
That Heaven upon the earth doth fling, 
Ere Winter’s star has set; 
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 Vie Violet!'' 
