Violet

How can the wimpling burnie glide?

Or flowers adorn the ingle side?

Or birdies deign

The woods, and streams, and vales to chide?

Eliza's gane!

J. W. H.

    If she be gone, the world, in my esteem,

    Are all bare walls; nothing remains in it

    But dust and feathers.

                                                                     John Crown

   Thus absence dies, and dying proves 
   No absence can subsist with loves

   That does partake of fair perfection; 
   Since, in the darkest night, they may, 
   By love's quick motion, find a way 
   To see each other in reflection.

                                Suckling

   A woman's love, deep in the heart,

   Is like the Violet flower,

   That lifts its modest head apart

   In some sequestered bower.

                                                Anon

The maid, whose manners are retired,

Who, patient, waits to be admired,

Though overlooked, perhaps, a while

Her modest worth, her modest smile,

Oh, she will find, or soon, or late,

A noble, fond, and faithful mate,

Who, when the spring of life is gone,

And all its blooming flowers are flown,

Will bless old Time, who left behind

The graces of a virtuous mind.

Paulding

Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies,

Let them live upon their praises;

Long as there's a sun that sets,

Primroses will have their glory;

Long as there are Violets,

They will have a place in story:

There's a flower that shall be mine,

'Tis the little Celandine.

Eyes of some men travel far

For the finding of a star;

Up and down the heavens they go,

Men that keep a mighty rout!

I'm as great as they, I throw,

Since the day I found thee out,

Little flower!-I'll make a stir,

Like a great astronomer.

Modest, yet withal an elf,

Bold, and lavish of thyself,

Since we needs must first have met

I have seen thee, high and low,

Thirty years or more, and yet

'Twas a face I did not know

Thou hast now, go where I may,

Fifty greetings in a day.

Ere a leaf is on the bush,

In the time before the thrush

Has a thought about its nest,

Thou wilt come with half a call,

Spreading out thy glossy breast

Like a careless prodigal;

Telling tales about the sun,

When there's little warmth or none.

Wordsworth

Shakespeare regarded the Violet as the

emblem of constancy, as the following occurs

in one of his sonnets:

Violet is for faithfulness,

Which in me shall abide;

Hoping, likewise, that from your heart

You will not let it slide.

Shakespeare