The Violet

Jane Taylor

Down in a green and shady bed, 
A modest violet grew, 
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, 
As if to hide from view. 

And yet it was a lovely flower, 
Its colours bright and fair; 
It might have graced a rosy bower, 
Instead of hiding there, 

Yet there it was content to bloom, 
In modest tints arrayed; 
And there diffused its sweet perfume, 
Within the silent shade. 

Then let me to the valley go, 
This pretty flower to see; 
That I may also learn to grow 
In sweet humility.