The Violet.

"The Violet," by Jane Taylor (1783-1824), is another of those dear old-fashioned poems, pure poetry and pure violet. It is included in this volume out of respect to my own love for it when I was a child. 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, No 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. Jane Taylor.