Here you will find the Poem The Anniversary of poet Robert William Service
"This bunch of violets," he said, "Is for my daughter dear. Since that glad morn when she was wed It is today a year. She lives atop this flight of stairs-- Please give an arm to me: If we can take her unawares How glad she'll be!" We climbed the stairs; the flight was four, Our steps were stiff and slow; But as he reached his daughter's door His eyes were all aglow. Joylike he raised his hand to knock, Then sore distressed was I, For from the silence like a shock I heard a cry. A drunken curse, a sob of woe . . . His withered face grew grey. "I think," said he, "we'd better go And come another day." And as he went a block with me, Walking with weary feet, His violets, I sighed to see, Bestrewed the street.