MODESTY.
There is a sweet, though humble flower,
Which grows in nature's wildest bed;
It blossoms in the lonely bower,
But withers 'neath the gazer's tread.
Which grows in nature's wildest bed;
It blossoms in the lonely bower,
But withers 'neath the gazer's tread.
'Tis reared alone, far, far away
From the wild noxious weeds of death;
Around its brow the sunbeams play,
The evening dew-drop is its wreath.
From the wild noxious weeds of death;
Around its brow the sunbeams play,
The evening dew-drop is its wreath.
'Tis Modesty; 'tis Nature's child;
The loveliest, sweetest, meekest flower
That ever blossomed in the wild,
Or trembled 'neath the evening shower.
The loveliest, sweetest, meekest flower
That ever blossomed in the wild,
Or trembled 'neath the evening shower.
'Tis Modesty; so pure, so fair,
That woman's witcheries lovelier grow,
When that sweet flower is blooming there,
The brightest beauty of her brow.
That woman's witcheries lovelier grow,
When that sweet flower is blooming there,
The brightest beauty of her brow.
