Crowded, yet lonely to each in the crowd—
“Violets, sweet violets, a bunch for a penny!”
She has been crying, still crying aloud.
She has been merry at selling so many,
Merry and proud.
Now as she watches the sun that is setting,
Far o’er the roofs and the masts of the ships,
Does her mind turn to the sweet unsold flowers,
Gathered by baby hands, pressed by child-lips,
While in a day-dream, through wild woodland bowers