modest violet

A modest violet be our queen, Still fragrant, though alone, Our king a laurel—evergreen— To which no blight is known.

Her friend had come from an exactly similar mould and might have been a twin but for her manner, which was that of the violet—the modest violet—on a river's brim.

“So you turned little Cry-baby into a lion of bravery and Sir Boastful into a modest violet!” said Justice, in a tone of incredulity.

“You’re some modest violet!” said Muggs.

I once knew a charming young lady, called by her friends "the modest Violet."