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.