The Violet Book

by Unknown

And at thy feet fair Nais lays her violets pale.

—VIRGIL.

The wind sprang up in the tree-tops

And shrieked with a voice of death,

But the rough-voiced breeze, that shook the trees,

Was touched with a violet’s breath.

—PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR.

One morn a lad cried in the street,

“Fresh violets!” and, as in answer sweet,

A bluebird flung, bouquet-like, clear and strong,