Wayside Flowers

 Pluck not the wayside flower, 
It is the traveller's dower; 
A thousand passers-by 
Its beauties may espy, 
May win a touch of blessing 
From Nature's mild caressing.
 
The sad of heart perceives 
A violet under leaves 
Like sonic fresh-budding hope; 
The primrose on the slope 
A spot of sunshine dwells, 
And cheerful message tells 
Of kind renewing power; 
The nodding bluebell's dye 
Is drawn from happy sky.
 
Then spare the wayside flower! 
It is the traveller's dower.

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