C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Sarah Helen Whitman

A love-tint flushes the wind-flower’s cheek,

Rich melodies gush from the violet’s beak,

On the rifts of the rock, the wild columbines grow,

Their heavy honey-cups bending low.

Banks that slope to the southern sky

Where languid violets love to lie.

Here oft we sought the violet, as it lay

Buried in beds of moss and lichens gray.

When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and like a dream of beauty glides away.