The violet in her greenwood bower, <br />Where birchen boughs with hazel mingle, <br />May boast itself the fairest flower <br />In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. <br /> <br />Though fair her gems of azure hue, <br />Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining; <br />I've seen an eye of lovelier blue, <br />More sweet through wat'ry lustre shining. <br /> <br />The summer sun that dew shall dry, <br />Ere yet the day be past its morrow; <br />No longer in my false love's eye <br />Remain'd the tear of parting sorrow.<br /><br />Sir Walter Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-violet-5/
