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The Violet

UPON the mead a violet stood,
Retiring, and of modest mood,

In truth, a violet fair.
Then came a youthful shepherdess,
And roam'd with sprightly joyousness,
And blithely woo'd

With carols sweet the air

"Ah!" thought the violet, "had I been
For but the smallest moment e'en

Nature's most beauteous flower,
'Till gather'd by my love, and press'd,
When weary, 'gainst her gentle breast,
For e'en, for e'en

One quarter of an hour!"

Alas! alas! the maid drew nigh,
The violet failed to meet her eye,

She crush'd the violet sweet.
It sank and died, yet murmur'd not:
"And if I die, oh, happy lot,
For her I die,

And at her very feet!"

poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Violet And The Rose

The violet in the wood, that's sweet to-day,
Is longer sweet than roses of red June;
Set me sweet violets along my way,
And bid the red rose flower, but not too soon.
Ah violet, ah rose, why not the two?
Why bloom not all fair flowers the whole year through?
Why not the two, young violet, ripe rose?
Why dies one sweetness when another blows?

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-56

Violet(Viola spp.)

Going out of hand my heart
Questing for flora all over
And this Violet a divine art
When captured by manoeuvre
Bloomed a Violaceae-mart
Amazing me with a hang over
A hurried study did my heart
Of variety violas however
Just to end up with one Violet
Of whom small, shrubby some-some are
Perennial, annual some-some Violet
Of upswept four, lobed one lower
Petals of colours many to treat
Violet, blue yellow, white to flavour
Bicoloured some alongwith impart
All now in one hold to favour
Medicinal and culinary art
Heart and oval leaves to savor
Petaled perfume performing sweet

poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Violet

DOWN in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head
As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colour bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet thus it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.

poem by Ann Taylor
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The Violet

Down in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head
As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colour bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet thus it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.

poem by Jane Taylor
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My Frost-King - Song II

Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
The low, sweet tones of happy flowers,
Singing little Violet's name.
'Mong the green trees was it whispered,
And the bright waves bore it on
To the lonely forest flowers,
Where the glad news had not gone.

Thus the Frost-King lost his kingdom,
And his power to harm and blight.
Violet conquered, and his cold heart
Warmed with music, love, and light;
And his fair home, once so dreary,
Gay with lovely Elves and flowers,
Brought a joy that never faded
Through the long bright summer hours.

Thus, by Violet's magic power,
All dark shadows passed away,
And on the home of happy flowers
The golden light for ever lay.
Thus the Fairy mission ended,
And all Flower-Land was taught
The 'Power of Love,' by gentle deeds
That little Violet wrought.

poem by Louisa May Alcott
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Brighter Shone The Golden Shadows

Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
The low, sweet tones of happy flowers,
Singing little Violet's name.
'Mong the green trees was it whispered,
And the bright waves bore it on
To the lonely forest flowers,
Where the glad news had not gone.

Thus the Frost-King lost his kingdom,
And his power to harm and blight.
Violet conquered, and his cold heart
Warmed with music, love, and light;
And his fair home, once so dreary,
Gay with lovely Elves and flowers,
Brought a joy that never faded
Through the long bright summer hours.

Thus, by Violet's magic power,
All dark shadows passed away,
And o'er the home of happy flowers
The golden light for ever lay.
Thus the Fairy mission ended,
And all Flower-Land was taught
The 'Power of Love,' by gentle deeds
That little Violet wrought.

poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Frost-King' Song II

Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
The low, sweet tones of happy flowers,
Singing little Violet's name.
'Mong the green trees was it whispered,
And the bright waves bore it on
To the lonely forest flowers,
Where the glad news had not gone.

Thus the Frost-King lost his kingdom,
And his power to harm and blight.
Violet conquered, and his cold heart
Warmed with music, love, and light;
And his fair home, once so dreary,
Gay with lovely Elves and flowers,
Brought a joy that never faded
Through the long bright summer hours.

Thus, by Violet's magic power,
All dark shadows passed away,
And on the home of happy flowers
The golden light for ever lay.
Thus the Fairy mission ended,
And all Flower-Land was taught
The "Power of Love," by gentle deeds
That little Violet wrought.

poem by Louisa May Alcott
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To A Beautiful Child On Her Birthday With A Wreath Of Flowers

Whilst others give thee wond’rous toys,
Or jewels rich and rare,
I bring but flowers—more meet are they
For one so young and fair.

’Tis not because that snowy brow
Might with the lily vie,
Or violet match the starry glance
Of that dark, lustrous eye;

Nor yet because a brighter blush
E’en rose leaf never wore,
But ’tis that in their leaves lies hid
A rare and mystic lore.

And with its aid I now shall form
A wreath of flow’rets wild—
Graceful, and full of meaning sweet,
To deck thy brow, fair child!

The primrose, first, the emblem fit
Of budding, early youth;
The daisy in whose leaves we read
Pure innocence and truth.

The rosebud, sign of youthful charms,
We well may give to thee,
And with it join the sweet frail leaves
Of the shrinking sensitive tree.

And, tribute to thy modesty,
The violet emblem meet,—
Itself concealing, yet on all
Shedding its perfume sweet.

And for thy kind and gentle heart
We bring the jessamine,
To twine with ivy, ever green—
True friendship’s sacred sign.

Thy wreath is formed—of blossoms bright
I’ve twined each link, and, yet,
Another flower I still must add,
The fragrant mignonnette,

Which says “However great the charms
That to thy lot may fall
Thy qualities of heart and mind
By far surpass them all.”

Aye, be it thus, and ever may
This lovely wreath, as now—
Emblem of every precious gift—
Be fit to deck thy brow.

But, last and dearest, ’mid the buds
Of that bright varied lot
Must ever be, my gentle child,
The sweet forget-me-not!

poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Violet

And the sky was made of amethyst
And all the stars look just like little fish
You should learn when to go
You should learn how to say no
Might last a day yeah
Mine is forever
Might last a day, yeah
Well mine is forever
When they get what they want they never want it again
When they get what they want they never want it again
Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything take everything take everything I want you to
And the sky was all violet I want it again, but more violet, more violet
Hey, Im the one with no soul
One above and one below
Go on, take everything take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything take everything I want you to
I told you from the start just how this would end
When I get what I want I never want it again
Go on, take everything take everyting I want you to
Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on take everything take everything take everything take everything

song performed by by Hole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Violet

drowned in a pool of violet
the windows pour forth invisible echos
the leaking panes - my decrepit house-
leaking against a flooding ocean.
the fluids mix one in another
the colour is no more diluted.
still violet.
it remains outside
holding the house together -
tape on a house of cards
it does little good to pursue
orange, persimmon or other hues;
for blind are the lanterns
that guide those with-out
soon the lanterns'll drown too,
in a pool of violet hue.

poem by Crystal Korzinsky Chambers
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Cakes, Boots and Merry-go-rounds

Violet's art cakes were fake, some say
but Violet's boots were a hoot!
She'd bought them down in Carnaby Street
and they came right up to her knees!

Now what in the heck d'ya suspect
they came right up to her knees.
She wore them into town she did
she wore them to go into town

and when she got there
there was a fair and the
merry-go-round went round and round
the merry-go-round went round.

Violet was an artiste, a very merry artiste
and when she got merry on her daddy's sherry
the cakes she made were a feast they were
the cakes she made were a feast!

poem by Ruth Walters
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A Calendar of Sonnets: November

This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. 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. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays
Willidly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet's day of pain?

poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Violet De Vere

You've heard of Violet de Vere, strip-teaser of renown,
Whose sitting-base out-faired the face of any girl in town;
Well, she was haled before the Bench for breachin' of the Peace,
Which signifies araisin' Cain, an' beatin' up the police.
So there she stood before the Court of ruddy Judge McGraw
Whom folks called Old Necessity, because he knew no law.
Aye, crackin' in a silken gown, an' sheddin' of a tear,
Ashine wi' gold an' precious stones sat Violet de Vere.
Old Judge McGraw looked dourly down an' stroked his silver beard.
Says he: "Although the Sheriff's bruised, the lady should be heared.
What can you say in your defence? We'll give you a square deal."
"I jest forget," said Violet. "Maybe it was my heel.
I always want to kick the gong when I am feelin' gay;
It's most unfortunate, I guess, his face was in the way."
Then scratchin' of his snowy pow the Judge looked down severe,
Where bright wi' paint like plaster saint sat Violet de Vere.

Says he: "I'm going to impose a twenty dollar fine."
Says Violet: "Your Honour, to your judgement I resign.
I realize I should not my agility reveal:
Next time I'll kick the Sheriff with my toe and not my heel.
I'm grateful to the Court because I'm not put in the clink;
There's twenty plunks to pay my fine,--but now I come to think:
Judge, darlin', you've been owin' me five bucks for near a year:
Take fifteen,--there! We'll call it square," said Violet de Vere.

poem by Robert William Service
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Purple Forest

I walk into a purple forest
The place is magical and free
The grass is violet, the sky is white
Purple defines every tree

I walk into a purple forest
There are purple buzzing bees
And a swamp of violet waters
creep up to my knees

I walk into a purple forest
A streak of purple runs across the sky
I hear a gentle whisper say
It was a fairy passing by

I walk into a purple forest
On violet sod I lie my head
But later, of course
I awake in my bed

poem by Summer Song
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Violet The Organ Grinder

Chorus:
I am violet the organ grinder
And I grind all the live long day
I live for the organ, that I am grinding
Ill die, but I wont go away
I am violet the organ grinder
And I grind all the live long day
I live for the organ, that I am grinding
Ill die, but I wont go away
Ooh, wait a minute, I think u better trip on this
Ooh, wait a minute, I think u better trip on this
I was on my way to another room
When an image of u sweetly
Appeared in the mirror
Perhaps u recall
U and I were neatly
In the middle of a crystal ball
That now serves as a reminder
On the wall of u and I the organ grinder
In the greatest concert of them all
I am violet the organ grinder {chorus in the background}
And I grind all the live long day
I live for the organ, that I am grinding
Ill die, but I wont go away
Did u know that I still have your stockings?
I keep em in a drawer next to your brazier
Come hither, my sweet, lend me your attention,
Come hither lend my your ear
I do believe that my piano was stolen
I do believe that u want me near
Well I can deal with a sucker
If hes in your mouth,
But I cant deal with insincere
Im the one that lives in your heart
U love me, no matter what u say
Swear you dont miss the organ grinder
Grinding on you every day
I am violet the organ grinder (I am violet the organ grinder)
And I grind all the live long day (and I grind all the live long day)
(check this out)
Ooh, wait a minute, I think u better trip on this
I took all the pictures you gave me,
And I placed them right under my bed
And I pumped and I pumped
til the gasm much as jumped
From my feet to the top of my head, oh boy!
Im violet the organ grinder {chorus in the background}
And I grind all the live long day
I live for the organ, that I am grinding
Ill die, but I will not go away
Ooh, wait a minute, I think u better trip on this
Like a puppy, I licked your devotion
From your neck from your eyes from your ears
When you cry, I became your emotion,
And if u ever cry like that again
Ill be here
cause Im violet the organ grinder {chorus in the background}
And I grind all the live long day
I live for the organ, that Im grinding
Ill die, but I wont go away
Not even...
[peace to the mutha]
(who turned the mother out)
[peace to the mutha]
(who turned the mother out)
I am violet the organ grinder
And I grind all the live long day
I live for the organ, that I am grinding
Ill die, but I wont go away

song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Violet's Wafers, Sent Me When I Was Ill

Fine-tissued as her finger-tips, and white
As all her thoughts; in shape like shields of prize,
As if before young Violet's dreaming eyes
Still blazed the two great Theban bucklers bright
That swayed the random of that furious fight
Where Palamon and Arcite made assize
For Emily; fresh, crisp as her replies,
That, not with sting, but pith, do oft invite
More trial of the tongue; simple, like her,
Well fitting lowlihood, yet fine as well,
-- The queen's no finer; rich (though gossamer)
In help to him they came to, which may tell
How rich that him SHE'LL come to; thus men see,
Like Violet's self e'en Violet's wafers be.

poem by Sidney Lanier
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Voices

EACH small gleam was a voice
-A lantern voice-
In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
A chorus of colors came over the water;
The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered,
No pines crooned on the hills
The blue night was elsewhere a silence
When the chorus of colors came over the water,
Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.

Small glowing pebbles
Thrown on the dark plane of evening
Sing good ballads of God
And eternity, with soul's rest.
Little priests, little holy fathers
None can doubt the truth of your hymning
When the marvelous chorus comes over the water
Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.

poem by Stephen Crane
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Each Small Gleam Was a Voice

Each small gleam was a voice,
A lantern voice --
In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
A chorus of colours came over the water;
The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered,
No pines crooned on the hills,
The blue night was elsewhere a silence,
When the chorus of colours came over the water,
Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.

Small glowing pebbles
Thrown on the dark plane of evening
Sing good ballads of God
And eternity, with soul's rest.
Little priests, little holy fathers,
None can doubt the truth of your hymning,
When the marvellous chorus comes over the water,
Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.

poem by Stephen Crane
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The Gardener

WITHIN this garden space are set
Sweet mignonette and violet,
Sunk in rich mould; at dawn and night
Their leaves dew-wet.
Who set them in the kindly loam
Lies buried 'neath the clover-foam
Of alien meadows, far away
From his loved home.
If it be glory thus to pass
For Honour's sake, and 'neath the grass
Red-wounded lie, then he, in truth,
Great glory has.
Yet, blossoms that he loved and set! —
Sweet mignonette, sweet violet —
Not Honour's self, nor Glory's crown,
Can stay regret.
'Twixt bud of leaf and fall of leaf,
Why should Fate in an hour so brief
Wreck flower and flower, and nurse alone
The cypress — Grief?
He is not gone — not all of him;
For trees have memories; leaf and limb
Shall breathe his name, and grateful flowers
At twilight dim.
For like these blooms, he left behind
Some fragrance, subtle and refined —
A memoried sweetness that shall haunt
Tree, flower and wind.

poem by Roderic Quinn
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They made me suspect

They made me suspect
Suspect that the blue violet
Hides poison in its mystery
And wide-eyed beauty weeping in the glooms
Of dusky eves half-hidden from the day
And in the other half from dark Night kept.

Therefore I
From the blue violet kept away
Admiring from afar
And loving from afar all fearfully.

And thus I left in solitude
The blue violet to the plaintive moon
And to the dewy paces of the dawn
Passing by on the grass from her east cave
And to the wan embraces of the wanton Night
When darkling wavelets lap their way to shore
When nightingales sing their silver melody
At the full distant faces of the startled stars
Fleeing before the madness of the Night
Into the ever-expanding universe that is
Of all of us and all of us contains.

And the blue violet lay in solitude
Like an unstrung Venetian violin
In summer nights where crimes occur and lovers rapid flee.

poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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