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The Flower

         
      Once in a golden hour
          I cast to earth a seed.
      Up there came a flower,
          The people said, a weed.

      To and fro they went
          Thro’ my garden-bower,
      And muttering discontent
          Cursed me and my flower.

      Then it grew so tall
          It wore a crown of light,
      But thieves from o’er the wall
          Stole the seed by night;

      Sow’d it far and wide
          By every town and tower,
      Till all the people cried,
          ‘Splendid is the flower.’

      Read my little fable:
          He that runs may read.
      Most can raise the flowers now
          For all have got the seed.

      And some are pretty enough,
          And some are poor indeed;
      And now again the people
          Call it but a weed.
       


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