ever 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
THE VIOLET. 
BY BARRY CORNWALL. 
I ove all things the seasons bring, 
All buds that start, all birds that siug, 
All leaves, from white to jet ; 
All the sweet words that Summer senda, 
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 the Violet f°? 
























