Where violets hide, Where star-flowers strew the rivulet's side, And blue-birds, in the misty spring, Of cloudless skies and summer sing.

--WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Here the first violets Perhaps will bud unseen, And a dove, maybe, Return to nestle here.

--CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

In winter, when the garden-plots were bare, And deep winds piloted the shriven snow, He saw its gleaming in the cottage fire, While, with a book of botany on his knee, He sat and hunger'd for a breath of spring.

Here beds of roses sweetened all the page; Here lilies whiter than the falling snow Crept gleaming softly from the printed lines; Here dewy violets sparkled till the book Dazzled his eyes with rays of misty blue.

--ROBERT BUCHANAN.

Die blauen Veilchen der Aengelein, Die rothen Rosen der w.a.n.gelein, Die weissen Lilien der Handchen klein, Die bluhen und bluhen noch immerfort, Und nur das Herzchen ist verdorrt.

--HEINRICH HEINE.

Again has come the springtime With the crocus' golden bloom, With the smell of the fresh-turned earth mould And the violet's perfume.

--SAMUEL LONGFELLOW.

Under the green hedges, after the snow, There do the dear little violets grow, Hiding their modest and beautiful heads Under the hawthorne in soft, mossy beds.

--JOHN MOULTRIE.

A duller sense than mine should feel The stir in nature's warming soul; It makes the shouting bluebirds reel, And bursts the violet's twisted scroll.

--GEORGE HENRY BOKER.

I see Thee in the distant blue, But in the violet's dell of dew, Behold, I breathe and touch Thee, too.

--JOHN B. TABB.

Spring sat dejected in a sheltered nook And sighed because of the long-lingering snow, And prayed that warm, life-giving winds might blow; When at her feet there grew, with trembling look, A violet that whispered: "I forsook My cell to comfort thee and still thy woe."

Then, filled with hope, Spring said: "I now shall go And greet each hill and vale and winding brook."

Where'er she went, earth blessed her with its flowers: Arbutus, columbines, anemones, And sunny marigolds that deck the wet Lowlands. But in the soothing moonlit hours, When dreaming 'neath the blossom-laden trees, She holds with loving hands the violet.

--JOHN LUTHER BRENIZER.

Ein kleines blau Veilchen Stand eben erst ein Weilchen Unten im Thal am Bach; Da dacht' es einmal nach Und sprach: "Da.s.s ich hier unten bluh'

Lohnt sich kaum der Muh'; Muss mich uberall bucken Und drucken.

Ei," spricht' es, "hier ist's schon, Aber alles kann man doch nicht sehen; So ein Berg Ist doch nur ein Schwerz; Auf der Alp da droben, Das war, eher zu loben: Da mocht' ich wohl sein, Da guckt' ich bis in Himmel hinein."

--FRIEDRICH FoRSTER.

CHAPTER FIVE

O violet, blue-eyed violet, Scented with sweetest breath!

--CAROLINE A. SOULE.

CHAPTER FIVE

Up from the sweet South comes the lingering May, Sets the first wind-flower trembling on its stem; Scatters her violets with lavish hands, White, blue and amber.

--CELIA THAXTER.

The vales shall laugh in flowers, the woods Grow misty-green with leafing buds, And violets and wind-flowers sway Against the throbbing heart of May.

--JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

When springtime comes, Primrose and violet haunt the mossy bank.

--HENRY G. HEWLETT.

Rosy and white on the wanton breeze The petals fall from the apple-trees, And under the hedge where the shade lies wet Are children, picking the violet.

--F. W. BOURDILLON.

The same sweet sounds are in my ear My early childhood loved to hear.

The violet there, in soft May dew, Comes up, as modest and as true.

--WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Farewell to thee, France! but when Liberty rallies Once more in thy regions, remember me then-- The violet still grows in the depths of thy valleys, Though withered, thy tears will unfold it again.

--LORD BYRON.

Where the rose doth wear her blushes Like a garment, and the fair And modest violets sit together, Weaving, in mild May weather, Purples out of dew and air Fit for any queen to wear.

--ALICE CARY.

Hear the rain whisper, "Dear violet, come!"

--LUCY LARCOM.

On every sunny hillock spread, The pale primrose lifts her head; Rich with sweets, the western gale Sweeps along the cowslip'd dale; Every bank, with violets gay, Smiles to welcome in the May.

--ROBERT SOUTHEY.

The air was soft and fresh and sweet; The slopes in spring's new verdure lay, And wet with dew-drops at my feet Bloomed the young violets of May.

--JOHN HOWARD BRYANT.