THE FLOWER GIRL.
THE FLOWER GIRL.
THE FLOWER GIRL.
THE FLOWER GIRL.
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Whatis she thinking of, what is she dreaming of,Dreaming awhile ere the sun has quite set?Is it the home of her earliest childhoodThat for a brief hour she cannot forget,Where the sweet violets grew blue in the wild woodWith dewdrops all wet?All the day long in the great crowded city—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 bowersOnce more she trips?Is it the fragrance that clings to her basket—Fragrance of violets that rich men have bought—That takes her to woodlands away from the city,Where with blue violets the moss is enwrought?Surely the wings of God’s angel of pityShadow her thought.A. M.
Whatis she thinking of, what is she dreaming of,Dreaming awhile ere the sun has quite set?Is it the home of her earliest childhoodThat for a brief hour she cannot forget,Where the sweet violets grew blue in the wild woodWith dewdrops all wet?All the day long in the great crowded city—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 bowersOnce more she trips?Is it the fragrance that clings to her basket—Fragrance of violets that rich men have bought—That takes her to woodlands away from the city,Where with blue violets the moss is enwrought?Surely the wings of God’s angel of pityShadow her thought.A. M.
Whatis she thinking of, what is she dreaming of,Dreaming awhile ere the sun has quite set?Is it the home of her earliest childhoodThat for a brief hour she cannot forget,Where the sweet violets grew blue in the wild woodWith dewdrops all wet?
Whatis she thinking of, what is she dreaming of,
Dreaming awhile ere the sun has quite set?
Is it the home of her earliest childhood
That for a brief hour she cannot forget,
Where the sweet violets grew blue in the wild wood
With dewdrops all wet?
All the day long in the great crowded city—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.
All the day long in the great crowded city—
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 bowersOnce more she trips?
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
Once more she trips?
Is it the fragrance that clings to her basket—Fragrance of violets that rich men have bought—That takes her to woodlands away from the city,Where with blue violets the moss is enwrought?Surely the wings of God’s angel of pityShadow her thought.
Is it the fragrance that clings to her basket—
Fragrance of violets that rich men have bought—
That takes her to woodlands away from the city,
Where with blue violets the moss is enwrought?
Surely the wings of God’s angel of pity
Shadow her thought.
A. M.
A. M.