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WILD FLOWERS. 
Love—if I dare so name 
esteem for thee. 
Surely flowers can bear no blame, 
My bonny Mary Lee ! 
Here’s the violet’s modest blue, 
That ’neath hawthorns hides from view, 
My gentle Mary Lee, 
Would show whose heart is true, 
While it thinks of thee. 
While they choose each lowly spot, 
The sun disdains them not; 
I’mas lowly, too, indeed, 
My charming Mary Lee: 
So I ’ve brought the flowers to plead, 
And win a smile from thee. 
Here’s a wild rose just in bud; 
Spring’s beauty in its hood, 
My bonny Mary Lee! 
’T is the first in all the wood 
I could find for thee. 
Thoigh a blush is scarcely seen, 
Yet it hides its worth within, 
