Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time that 's gone; Violets plucked, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again.
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Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
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Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
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Roses are red, Violets are blue, Some poems rhyme
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Roses are red; Violets are blue; I want to stick, My penis in you
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Roses are red Violets are Blue I'm a schizofrenic and so am I
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Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm a schitzophrenic, and so am I.
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Who are the violets now That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
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We may pass violets looking for roses. We may pass contentment looking for victory.
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Lay her i'th'earth, And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring.
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You may pass violets looking for roses and contentment looking for victory.
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Big doesn't necessarily mean better..sunflowers aren't better than violets.
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