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.