THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 1M 
THE VIOLET. 
BY BARRY CORNWALL. 
I love all things the seasons bring, 
All buds that start, all birds that sing, 
All loaves, from white to jet; 
All the sweet words that Summer senes, 
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 blow*, 
In pretty amorous threat; 
The lily paler than the moon, 
The odorous wondrous world of June, 
Yet more—the Violet! 
She comes—the f.rst, 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 the Violet /” 
