The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.
In my previous life I was a civil attorney. At one point I truly believed that was what I wanted to be- but that was before I'd been handed a fistful of crushed violets from a toddler. Before I understood that the smile of a child is a tattoo: indelible art.
Yesterday I sat in a field of violets for a long time perfectly still, until I really sank into it - into the rhythm of the place, I mean - then when I got up to go home I couldn't walk quickly or evenly because I was still in time with the field.
I've got it all in here ultra violets, flying saucers, strawberry bootlace come on get involved.
The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remembered to have been Joyful and free from blame.
Violets are God's apology for February.
Who are the violets now That strew the lap of the new-come spring?
Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets. . . Mountain-top jewels
Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm sick of this poem, you probably are too.
Deep violets, you liken to The kindest eyes that look on you, Without a thought disloyal.
Stars will blossom in the darkness, Violets bloom beneath the snow.
Roses are reddish Violets are bluish If it weren't for Christmas We'd all be Jewish.
Our cheer goes back to them, the valiant dead! Laurels and roses on their graves to-day, lilies and laurels over them we lay, and violets o'er each unforgotten head.
I do love violets; they tell the history of woman's love.
Do you think amethysts can be the souls of good violets?
Can anything compare to the sight of the first yellow violets blooming along a woodland path? These most fragile of plants are yet hardy enough to bloom when nights are still frosty and snow still lingers in the ravines.
Early violets blue and white Dying for their love of light.
I stepped closer still. He closed his eyes again and covered my hand with his own. 'You smell of violets. You always smell of violets,' he said. 'You've no idea how many times I have walked these moors and smelled them and thought you were near. On and on I walked, following the scent of you, and you were never there. When I saw you in the hall tonight, I thought I had finally gone mad.
The mountain violets break the rocks.
Satin and lace and brown velvet and the faint odor of violets. That was all which was left to him of his love.
