The Violet

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.

(By Jane Taylor)