“But the violets are pre-eminently the flowers of May, and is it not true that of all flowers they are the most beloved, not excepting the rose? At least nine sorts of violets can be readily distinguished by the novice in the vicinity of Minneapolis. One is rapturously happy when he chances upon a meadow tufted with clumps of these violets. No wonder at such a time one supposedly guiltless of “dropping into poetry” was heard crooning over and over to himself, “I would rather know where violets grow than a good many other things.!...” Eloise Butler, from a writing of May 21, 1911.

A Seasonal Poem

Love on a day, wise poets tell,
Some time in wrangling spent,
Whether the violets should excel,
Or she, in sweetest scent.
But Venus having lost the day,
Poor girls, she fell on you:
And beat ye so, as some dare say,
Her blows did make ye blue.

"How Violets Came Blue" by
Robert Herrick, 1591-1674