Violets
Violets, violets, sweet March violets,
Sure as March comes, they'll come too,
First the white and then the blue—
Pretty violets!
White, with just a pinky dye,
Blue as little baby's eye,—
So like violets.
Though the rough wind shakes the house,
Knocks about the budding boughs,
There are violets.
Though the passing snow-storms come,
And the frozen birds sit dumb,
Up spring violets.
One by one among the grass,
Saying "Pluck me!" as we pass,—
Scented violets.
By and by there'll be so many,
We'll pluck dozens nor miss any:
Sweet, sweet violets!
Children, when you go to play,
Look beneath the hedge to-day:—
Mamma likes violets.
Dinah Maria Mulock.
Young Dandelion
Young Dandelion
On a hedge-side,
Said young Dandelion,
"Who'll be my bride?
"I'm a bold fellow
As ever was seen,
With my shield of yellow,
In the grass green.
"You may uproot me
From field and from lane,
Trample me, cut me,—
I spring up again.
"I never flinch, Sir,
Wherever I dwell;
Give me an inch, Sir,
I'll soon take an ell.
"Drive me from garden
In anger and pride,
I'll thrive and harden
By the road-side.
"Not a bit fearful,
Showing my face,
Always so cheerful
In every place."
Said young Dandelion,
With a sweet air,
"I have my eye on
Miss Daisy fair.
"Though we may tarry
Till past the cold,
Her I will marry
Ere I grow old.
"I will protect her
From all kinds of harm,
Feed her with nectar,
Shelter her warm.
"Whate'er the weather,
Let it go by;
We'll hold together,
Daisy and I.
"I'll ne'er give in,—no!
Nothing I fear:
All that I win, oh!
I'll keep for my dear."
Said young Dandelion
On his hedge-side,
"Who'll me rely on?
Who'll be my bride?"
Dinah Maria Mulock.