My regret; Becomes an April violet, And buds and blossoms like the rest.
My regret; Becomes an April violet, And buds and blossoms like the rest.
The violet droops its soft and bashful brow, But from its heart sweet incense fills the air So rich within - so pure without - art thou, With modest mien and soul of virtue rare.
Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love,"--thus chides she Death,--
"Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,
Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?
A gift of flowers to a woman implies that she is as deliciously desirable as the blossoms themselves but there may be another and hidden message, contained in the old-fashioned phrases like 'shy as a violet, 'clinging vine,' not originally conceived as pejoratives, that tells more of the truth - which is that flowers are also emblems of feminine submission.
I think the King is but a man as I am the violet smells to him as it doth to me.
I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows Quite canopied over with luscious woodbine With sweet muskroses and with eglantine. There sleeps Titania sometime of the night Lulled in these flowers with dances and delights.
That which above all other yields the sweetest smell in the air is the violet.
In our film profession you may have Gable's looks, Tracy's art, Marlene's legs or Liz's violet eyes, but they don't mean a thing without that swinging thing called courage.
If it should turn out that we have mishandled our own lives as several civilizations before us have done, it seems a pity that we should involve the violet and the tree frog in our departure.
The grape Hyacinth is the favorite spring flower of my garden - but no I though a minute ago the Scilla was and what place has the Violet the Flower de Luce I cannot decide, but this I know - it is some blue flower.
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down, Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrewn, Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
I'm a fart in a gale of wind, a humble violet, under a cow pat.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives.
Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.
A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
You can't be suspicious of a tree, or accuse a bird or a squirrel of subversion or challenge the ideology of a violet.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories