The soft warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns.
—HELEN HUNT JACKSON.
Into her dream he melted, as the rose
Blendeth its odor with the violet.
—JOHN KEATS.
I think I love the violets best of all,
Because of that hushed sweetness, far and faint