I had no thought of violets of late,
The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet
In wistful April days, when lovers mate
And wander through the fields in raptures sweet.
The thought of violets meant florists’ shops,
And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;
Spring is a time of transition and renewal, with March bringing in the very beginnings of the season, and with April pegged for its rain showers, while May blossoms and blooms with flowers. Browse our selection of poems about the spring season.