That image in Lowell's poem of 'The Changeling' fascinates me. It is so much what I am and ever wish to be.
'I feel as weak as a violet
Alone 'neath the awful sky.'
Unable to defend myself and apparently undefended, yet guarded by omnipotent love, I would fain pour out a perfume of praise to the Great Invisible who watches over me, and would feel that under the care of Providence I may claim the sweetness of the poet's next stanza.
'As weak, yet as trustful also;
For the whole year long I see
All the wonders of faithful nature
Still worked for the love of me.
Winds wander and dews drip earthward, -
Rains fall, suns rise and set,
Earth whirls, and all but to prosper
A poor little violet.'