As worthless weeds. Oh! little do we know
When they have soothed, when saved!
But come, dear boy!
My words grow tinged with thought too deep for thee.
Come—let us search for violets.
Child. Know you not
More of the legends which the woodmen tell
Amidst the trees and flowers?
Father. Wilt thou know more?
Bring then the folding leaf, with dark-brown stains