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Down in a green and shady bed, a modest violet grew;
its stalk was bent, it hung its head As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower, Its colour bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower, Instead of hiding there.
Yet thus it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume, Within the silent shade.
Then let me to the valley go This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility.