Today I saw the violet-girl, with sad and wistful eyes;
She stands there by the corner, and "Sweet violets!" she cries.
From early morn till evening she wanders thro' the street--
Poor little violet-seller--with tired hands and feet!
The flowers in her basket--the violets of Spring--
Their sweet and subtle fragrance on the air are scattering
How she lifts them up to view as the people jostle by,
And "Violets! sweet violets!" is still her plaintive cry.
Only a violet-seller! Oh! ye children who are glad,
Spare kindly words and glances to the child whose heart is sad:
Poor patient little Maggie, with no mother's kiss to bless,
No mother's arms to hold her in a sweet and fond caress!
Out in the early morning, when the grass is wet with dew,
She goes to gather violets, and sell them now to you.
Give her a smile in passing, and heed her plaintive cry
Of--"Violets! sweet violets! fresh violets, who'll buy?"
