You are the only person who loves me in the world," said Elizabeth. "When you talk to me I smell violets.
The violets prattle and titter, And gaze on the stars high above.
The violet sea longs for the birth of gods, for to be born here is an unspeakable feast, a drumroll of commanding retinues and tritons.
Violet! sweet violet! Thine eyes are full of tears; Are they wet Even yet With the thought of other years?
We say This changes and that changes. Thus the constant Violets, doves, girls, bees and hyacinths Are inconstant objects of inconstant cause In a universe of inconstancy.
Sure thou did'st nourish once! and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, Passed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. And still a new succession sings and flies; Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot Towards the old and still-enduring skies; While the low violet thrives at their root.
Then you hold life like a face between your palms, a plain face, no charming smile, no violet eyes, and you say, yes, I will take you I will love you, again.
I softly sink into the bath of sleep: With eyelids shut, I see around me close The mottled, violet vapors of the deep, That wraps me in repose.
Death is woven in with the violets,” said Louis. “Death and again death. ”)
If a kiss could be seen it would look like a 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.
For a moment he could have sworn he smelled violets, which was very peculiar, since he had no idea what violets smelled like, except somehow he knew they smelled just like Lady Emma.
He thought how sad it was to be an Animal who had never had a bunch of violets picked for him.
A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting; The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.
O spring, I know thee! Seek for sweet surprise In the young children's eyes. But I have learnt the years, and know the yet Leaf-folded violet.
Do you think amethysts can be the souls of good violets?
Each violet peeps from its dwelling to gaze at the bright stars above.
The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.
The humble soul is like the violet, which grows low, hangs the head downward, and hides itself with its own leaves.
The Proustian aquarium: grotesque and gorgeous fish drifting with languid fins through a subaqueous medium of pale violet polluted ink.