When beechen buds begin to swell,
 And woods the blue-bird's warble know,
The yellow violet's modest bell
Peeps from the last year's leaves below.
Ere russet fields their green resume,
 Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume
Alone is in the virgin air.
Of all her train, the hands of Spring
 First plant thee in the watery mould,
And I have seen thee blossoming
 Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.
Thy parent sun, who bade thee view
 Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip,
Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,
 And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.
The sun serves as a parent to this violet while providing the essential light needed for it to grow. 

The Yellow Violet