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ANONYMOUS. 
The little fairy Speedwell, 
With its many eyes of blue, 
How well I can remember 
Green lanes wherein it grew. 
The Daisies, see how gayly 
Like litle stars they shine, 
The darlings of thy childhood, 
As once they were of mine. 
The Blue-bell—when I see it, 
My thoughts fly back once more, 
To a pine-wood, whose recesses 
With its bloom were purpled o’er. 
Go forth, dear child, and pluck them, 
And bring thy spoils to me; 
Thou lov’st the gay, bright colors, 
Though thou seest not what I see ! 
To me they bring remembrance 
Of many long past Springs ; 
They are types to me and shadows 
Of yet more lovely things. 
They have sprung in joyous beauty 
From the drear and wintry earth, 
When all was dead and dreary, 
They have brought their new-born mirth. 
