THE VIOLETS’ SPRING SONG. 
BY L. A. TWAHLEY. 
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 by. 
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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