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						Wayside Flowers by William Allingham 
						
						Pluck not the wayside flower,  It is the traveller's dower;  A thousand passers-by  Its beauties may espy,  May win a touch of blessing  From Nature's mild caressing.  The sad of heart perceives  A violet under leaves  Like sonic fresh-budding hope;  The primrose on the slope  A spot of sunshine dwells,  And cheerful message tells  Of kind renewing power;  The nodding bluebell's dye  Is drawn from happy sky.  Then spare the wayside flower!  It is the traveller's dower.						 
						
						
						
						
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