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 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.