Not the first violet on a woodland lea
Seemed a more visible gift of Spring than she.
—JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
No more shall meads be decked with flowers,
Nor sweetness dwell in rosy bowers,
Nor greenest buds on branches spring,
Nor warbling birds delight to sing,
Nor April violets paint the grove,
If I forsake my Celia’s love.
—THOMAS CAREW.