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قراءة كتاب The Violet Book
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 3
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Once in a dream I saw the flowers
That bud and bloom in Paradise;
More fair they are than waking eyes
Have seen in all this world of ours.
And faint the perfume-bearing rose,
And faint the lily on its stem,
And faint the perfect violet,
Compared with them.
—CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.
Violet, sweet violet!
Thine eyes are full of tears;
Are they wet,
Even yet,
With the thoughts of other years?
Or with gladness are they full,
For the night so beautiful,
And longing for those far-off spheres?
Violet, dear violet,
Thy blue eyes are only wet
With joy and love of Him who sent thee,
And for the fulfilling sense
Of that glad obedience
Which made thee all that Nature meant thee.
—JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
CHAPTER TWO
Violets, shy violets,
How many hearts with thee compare!
—ANONYMOUS.
CHAPTER TWO
Under a mantle of frost-work and snow,
Close by the arc of the fairy-queen’s ring,
Sleeping in delicate grottoes of ice,
Clusters of violets dream of the spring.
—D. CHAUNCEY BREWER.
That strain again! It had a dying fall:
Oh! it came o’er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets
Stealing and giving odor.
—WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
The careful little violet,
She makes me think of you,
Holding her leafy petticoats
From out the morning dew.
—ALICE CARY.
The violet breathes, by our door, as sweetly
As in the air of her native East.
—WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
The wind-flowers and the violets were still too sound asleep,
Under the snow’s warm blanket, close folded, soft and deep.
—CELIA THAXTER.
Beautiful maid, discreet,
Where is the mate that is meet,
Meet for thee—strive as he could—
Yet will I kneel at thy feet,
Fearing another one should,
Violet!
—COSMO MONKHOUSE.
I think the very violets
Are looking the way you’ll come!
—ALICE CARY.
Once, long ago, in summer’s glow,
We threaded, you and I,
A garden’s maze of pleasant ways,
Whose beauty charmed the eye,—
Where violets bent in sweet content
And pinks stood proud and high.
—ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN.
In her hair the sunbeams nest,
And in her eyes the violets blow,
While in the summer of her breast
The songbird thoughts flit to and fro.
—ETHEL M. KELLEY.
Violets steeped in dreamy odors,
Humble as the Mother mild,
Blue as were her eyes when watching
O’er her sleeping child.
—ADELAIDE PROCTOR.
O Mother Nature, kind to every child
Blessed with the gift of speech, the gift of grace,
Teach thou the modest violet, shy and wild,