1.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.
2.And yet it was a lovely.ower,Its colors bright and fair;It might have graced a rosy bower Instead of hiding there.
3.Yet there it was content to bloom,In modest tints arrayed,And there it spread its sweet perfume,Within the silent shade.
4.Then let me to the valley go,This pretty.ower to see;That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility.
（Jane Taylor）
