I. <br /> <br />I dug a little flower <br />From out the forest-shade, <br />And set it in my garden <br />Where light and sunshine played. <br /> <br />I went to watch it daily, <br />I tended it with care, <br />And Said: 'With this no other <br />Shall ever dare compare.' <br /> <br />And yet it slowly withered <br />Beneath the cheerful sun, <br />And died there in my garden <br />Before a week was done. <br /> <br />II. <br /> <br />I took a little fancy <br />From out my tangled brain, <br />And set it to the music <br />Of an old-time, sweet refrain. <br /> <br />I decked in out in figures, <br />I nursed it with fine words, <br />And said: 'My little songlet <br />Shall be sung by all the birds.' <br /> <br />Its spirit waned and vanished <br />Beneath its wordy weight, <br />And it died with all its music, <br />And met the flower's fate.<br /><br />William Herbert Carruth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flower-and-song/
