The Violet by 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 colour bright and fair; It might have graced a rosy bower, Instead of hiding there.
Yet thus it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused a 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.
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