
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 163 I] 
THE VIOLET. | 
BY BARRY CORNWALL. 
[ nove all things the seasons bring, 
All buds that start, all birds that sing, i| 
All leaves, from white to jet ; | 
All the sweet words that Summer senda, || 
‘When she recalls her flowery friends, i 
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! I 
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! 
ut | tearn, a ind. me ve, and so depart, 
h thy wiser heart, 
L ? 
é the Violet £? 

