THE VIOLETS' SPRING SONG. 



BY L. A. TWAMLEY. 



UNDER the hedge all safe and warm, 

 Sheltered from boisterous wind and storm* 



We violets lie ; 



With each small eye 

 Closely shut while the cold goes hy. 



You look at the bank, 'mid the biting frost, 

 And you sigh and say that we're dead and lost ; 



But lady, stay 



For a sunny day, 

 And you'll find us again alive and gay. 



On mossy banks, under forest trees, 

 You'll find us crowding, in days like these ; 



Purple and blue, 



And white ones too, 

 Peep at the sun and wait for you. 



By maids and matrons, by old and young > 

 By rich and poor our praise is sung ; 



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