And the checker-berry twines.
These all grow in the fairest bowers;
There is no room for the daisy flowers.
So the daisy grows by the dusty road,
Sweet and sunny and shy,
Lifting its pretty, modest head
To nod to each passer-by.
"Why do you grow by the roadside, dear?
It is all dust and sand;
Come to the violet's shady nook,